u 


THE  LIBRARY 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CALIFORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


IP  HOC  .'3 
£10  Ufl?  Bs»ch  Blvd. 
•  H«Kh  2,  Calif. 


The  Works  of 

CHARLES     PAUL    DE  KOCK 

WITH    A    GUN-URAL    INTRODUCTION    BT 

JULES     CLARETIE 

SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH  BT 

EDITH    MARY   NORRIS 


THE    FREDERICK   J.    QUINBY    COMPANY 

BOSTON  LONDON  PARIS 


Edition 

LimiUl  to  On*  Tk*ts*nd  Cefitt 
ffumbtr. 


COPYRIGHT,   1904,   BY 

THE  FREDERICK  J.  QUINBY  COMFANT 

All  r  if  kit  rt  served 


PXINTXD  ON  OLD  STRATFORD  PAPER  MADE  BY 

MlTTINBAGUB    PAPER    COMPANY 


Printers  and  Binders^  Norwood,  Mats. 


pa 


CON 


TENTS 


PAGE 


A  RECEIPT  FOR  THE  MAKING  OF  A  MARRIAGE    .  i 

ON  THE  CANAL  BANKS 24 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  MARK 45 

THE  GRISETTES*  TRICK 55 

THE  HOBGOBLIN 70 

A  DAY  WITH  AN  AUTHOR 87 

THE  PARISIANS  ON  THE  RAILWAY 107 

THE  GRISETTES'  BALL 128 

A  PARISIAN  HOUSE 144 

THE  ARTIFICIAL  FLOWER-MAKERS'  WORKSHOP.  149 

THE  CHRISTENING 153 

REVIEWING  LOVE  LETTERS 156 

THE  ROSEBUSH 160 

SHE  WAS  so  PRETTY 163 

THE  FIRESIDE 165 

MONSIEUR  BERTRAND'S  HOUSEHOLD      .     .     .     .  168 

MEMORANDA  OF  AN  ADONIS 172 

THE  FAITHFUL  LOVERS.     A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE 

GOOD  OLD  TIMES 175 

UNDERNEATH  THE  TABLE 179 

POTLUCK  .  182 


2225553 


CONTENTS 

MM 

A  BACHELOR'S  THOUGHTS  ON  MARRIAGE  .     .     .  188 

AN  UNLUCKY  DAY 191 

LITTLE  BY  LITTLE 195 

THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  MASTER  IN  His  OWN  HOUSE  197 

MOVING  DAY 200 

THE  DINING-ROOM  OF  A  RESTAURANT.     .     .     .  204 

FORTUNATE  CREDULITY 211 

THE  Two  FUNERALS 214 

THE  HABITUES  OF  THE  ORCHESTRA     .     .     .     .  217 

COLUMBINE  AGAINST  HER  WILL  OR  A  CARNIVAL 

ADVENTURE 220 

DREAMS 224 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  FISHING 227 

A  FANCY-DRESS  BALL 231 

A  HOUSEKEEPER  READING  TO  HER  MASTER    .     .  247 

PARIS  FROM  MY  WINDOW 253 


A  RECEIPT  FOR  THE  MAKING  OF  A 
MARRIAGE 

A  LADY  of  my  acquaintance  has  a  mania 
for  matchmaking.  I  say  mania  advisedly, 
for  if  she  were  impelled  by  interest,  speculation  or 
love  of  feasting,  I  could  understand  the  avidity  with 
which  she  sets  about  this  kind  of  thing ;  but  she  gets 
no  profit  from  it  in  any  way, —  she  does  not  dance, 
she  hardly  eats  anything.  What  pleasure,  then, 
can  she  obtain  in  going  to  a  wedding  ?  Is  it  that 
later  on  she  may  hear  the  reproaches  and  com- 
plaints of  those  she  has  lured  into  the  paths  of 
matrimony,  which  certainly  must  be  more  frequent 
than  the  thanks  of  the  ones  she  has  made  happy. 
There  are  some  things  in  this  world  so  strange  as 
to  be  inexplicable  and  these  things  are  exceedingly 
numerous. 

This  lady  has  always  a  great  number  of  young 
ladies  to  provide  for,  young,  middle-aged  (one 
never  calls  them  old),  amiable,  gentle,  witty,  but 
rarely  rich ;  those  who  are  so  never  need  to  take 
any  trouble  to  find  husbands,  their  only  embarrass- 
ment is  that  of  choice.  But  if  the  matches  offered 

by  Madame  B were  not  well  dowered  on  the 

money  side  of  the  question,  they  were  always  rich 
in  virtues  and  good  qualities.  Unfortunately  for 
poor  young  ladies,  we  live  in  an  age  of  gold  ;  that  is 
to  say,  in  an  age  where  gold  is  considered  the  first 
and  greatest  power  on  earth,  the  underlying  active 

Vol.  XIX        i 


2         SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

principle  which  puts  everything  in  motion ;  and 
where  it  has  the  precedence  over  integrity  and  very 
often  over  ability  also  ;  and,  I  am  obliged  to  con- 
fess, I  believe  it  has  been  the  same  in  all  ages.  The 
men  of  former  times  were  no  better  in  this  respect 
than  those  of  today,  as  history  itself  will  show  us. 
What  crimes,  what  impostures,  what  knaveries 
have  been  committed,  and  always  for  gold.  Peo- 
ple cringed  before  those  in  power  because  they 
distributed  favors  to  them,  employed  them,  and 
those  they  employed  gained  much  gold.  "  What 
is  necessary  to  make  war  ?  "  said  Frederick  the 
Great,  "  money,  money,  and  money  !  " 

These  words  of  the  king  of  Prussia  might  be 
applied  to  other  things  beside  war.  What  must 
be  considered,  deferred  to  in  making  love  to  or 
marrying  off  young  girls  ?  "  Money,  money,  and 
money ! " 

"  But,"  you  will  perhaps  answer  me,  "  I  have 
known  many  who  had  none,  and  for  all  that  they 
married." 

I  admit  it,  there  is  no  rule  without  an  excep- 
tion and  what  I  am  going  to  relate  to  you  is  a 
proof  of  it ;  but  what  troubles  and  trials  had  to  be 
overcome  before  attaining  one's  end,  and  is  it  really 
attained  when  in  order  to  avoid  dying  in  celibacy 
one  allies  one's  self  to  a  being  with  whom  one  has 
not  the  slightest  sympathy  and  who  as  likely  as 
not  is  an  object  of  aversion. 

But  we  will  leave  these  reflections,  which  are 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK          3 

leading  us  too  far  from  our  subject,  and  return  to 
the  lady  who  was  so  fond  of  matchmaking. 

Madame  B cannot  make  a  match  for  me, 

since  I  am  already  married  ;  but  she  never  sees 
me  without  saying, — 

"  Can't  you  find  me  a  suitable  match  for  my  lit- 
tle Celestine  ?  She  is  such  a  good  girl !  so  gentle 
and  so  amiable,  such  a  disposition  as  one  rarely 
sees  ;  she  is  never  in  a  bad  temper,  even  when  she 
has  the  toothache !  Ah,  how  happy  a  husband 
would  be  with  such  a  wife  as  that !  " 

"  Has  she  a  dowry  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  sorry  to  say  she  has  not.  To  tell 
you  the  truth,  had  she  had  one  she  would  have 
been  married  ten  years  ago  !  " 

"  Ten  years  ago  !  How  old  is  your  little  Celes- 
tine, may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  Between  twenty-seven  and  twenty-eight  years 
old,  but  as  simple  and  innocent  as  possible,  I  will 
answer  for  that." 

"  If  I'm  not  mistaken,  she  is  quite  plain." 

"Why,  the  idea!  how  unkind  of  you!  It  is 
true  that  she  isn't  pretty,  especially  since  she  had 
the  smallpox,  which  left  her  with  an  eye  that  weeps 
continually  ;  but  it  doesn't  show  when  she  is  laugh- 
ing. I  assure  you  she  isn't  ugly  ;  there  is  nothing 
repulsive  about  her  and  she  has  a  pleasant  smile." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  has  quite  an  extensive  smile !  it 
shows  all  her  gums,  and  her  teeth,  which  look  like 
wild  boar's  tusks." 


4         SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  How  you  exaggerate  things  !  Her  teeth  are 
rather  long  and  rather  yellow,  I  know  —  but  none 
of  them  are  decayed." 

"  Which  is  rather  a  pity  —  and  then  she  is  so 
scraggy." 

"  I  confess  that  she  isn't  at  all  plump,  and  that 
she  is  rather  knock-kneed ;  but  all  that  doesn't  pre- 
vent her  from  being  an  excellent  girl,  very  indus- 
trious, very  economical,  very  capable  of  keeping 
a  house." 

"  But  I  don't  think  she  would  keep  a  husband 
long ;  knock-knees  are  very  ugly.  I  know  they 
do  not  prevent  a  woman  from  looking  after  her 
soup  kettles,  but  I  think  they  are  foes  to  love  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens  !  my  dear  friend,  how  droll  you 
are,  what  next  will  you  say  ?  Does  one  always 
marry  for  love  ? " 

"  Well,  when  they  don't  marry  for  that,  they 
marry  for  money." 

"  Not  at  all.  They  marry  so  as  not  to  be  alone 
—  for  companionship,  because  they  want  to  be 
married,  in  short." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  understand.  As  Beranger  said, 
f  That  I  may  find  my  slippers  ready  and  receive 
some  little  care  and  attention  when  I  come  home.' ' 

Madame  B had  spoken  handsomely,  though 

I  did  not  think  it  would  be  easy  to  marry  Made- 
moiselle Celestine,  and  besides  I  never  interfere  in 
such  matters  ;  but  one  day  it  chanced  that  one  of 
my  friends  said  to  me, — 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK          5 

"  I  know  a  young  man  who  wishes  to  marry, 
can  you  recommend  a  wife  to  him  ?  " 

I  began  to  laugh,  for  I  remembered  Mademoi- 
selle Celestine,  and  I  answered, — 

"  I  could  mention  a  very  nice  young  lady,  but 
your  young  man  might  not  like  her." 

"  Why  not  ?  He  won't  be  hard  to  suit.  I'll  begin 
by  telling  you  that  he  doesn't  insist  on  money,  but 
he  wants  his  wife  to  have  a  trade." 

"A  trade? — exactly!  the  one  I  told  you  of  is  a 
fringe-maker." 

"  A  fringe-maker  ?  that  would  suit  him.  He  is 
a  government  clerk,  he  has  sixteen  hundred  francs 
salary,  and  moreover  a  little  business  in  corks 
which  brings  him  in  four  or  five  hundred  francs ; 
he  wants  a  wife  to  keep  his  house  and  look  after 
his  corks  while  he  is  at  his  office." 

"  How  old  is  your  young  man  ? " 

"Oh,  about  thirty-six  or  thirty-eight." 

"  The  deuce  he  is  !  —  rather  a  mature  young 
man." 

"  Come,  my  dear  fellow,  let  us  see  your  young 
lady.  Devil  take  it,  it  won't  cost  anything  to  look 
at  her,  I  suppose." 

"I  suppose  not;  but  I  can't  bring  you  together; 
I  will  take  you  to  a  lady  who  is  a  friend  of  hers, 
who  greatly  desires  to  marry  her,  and  you  can  set- 
tle it  between  you,  for  I  warn  you  I'll  have  no 
hand  in  your  matchmaking." 

Dupont,  that  was  the  name  of  my  friend,  begged 


6         SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

me  to  take  him  immediately  to  the  lady  I  spoke 
of,  and  I  discovered  that  he  also  was  fond  of  match- 
making; but  I  could  pardon  this  in  him,  for  I  knew 
he  was  led  by  the  pleasure  of  going  to  a  wedding 
and  giving  himself  an  indigestion. 

I  took  Dupont  to  Madame  B ,  who  uttered 

an  exclamation  of  delight  on  learning  the  object  of 
our  visit.  She  and  Dupont  soon  understood  each 
other  as  well  as  if  they  had  been  acquainted  for 
eight  years ;  their  conversation  was  as  lively  and 
broken  as  that  of  Marivaux. 

"Is  your  friend  handsome ?  " 

"No." 

"  So  much  the  better." 

"  How  about  your  young  lady?" 

"  Her  face  is  nothing  to  speak  of." 

"  I  understand,  that  will  suit  us." 

"  But  she  is  industrious,  gentle,  obliging,  eco- 
nomical, steady." 

"  Very  good !  any  money  ?  " 

"  A  small  trousseau  and  some  expectations." 

"  That  is  sufficient." 

"  Your  friend  has  a  clerkship  ?  " 

"  Sixteen  hundred  francs  salary,  and  a  small  in- 
come from  the  sale  of  corks." 

"  That  will  suit  us  perfectly." 

"  How  old  is  your  young  lady  ? " 

"  Well  —  she  has  arrived  at  a  reasonable  age." 

"  That  again  will  suit  us ;  my  friend  does  not 
wish  to  have  children." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK  7 

"  Celestine  doesn't  care  about  them  at  all." 

"  We  must  appoint  an  interview." 

"  As  soon  as  possible." 

"  The  day  after  tomorrow  ?  " 

"  The  day  after  tomorrow  be  it.     Where  ? " 

"  At  the  Jardin  Turc  in  the  evening,  during  the 
concert." 

"I  agree  to  that;  it's  only  twenty-sous  entrance, 
my  friend  can  surely  stand  that." 

"  Then  the  day  after  tomorrow  at  the  Jardin 
Turc  at  eight  o'clock." 

"  We  will  be  there." 

"  I  shall  wear  a  lilac  bonnet." 

"  That  is  settled,  then." 

Madame  B had  fixed  upon  me  as  the  one 

who  should  escort  her  to  the  Jardin  Turc.  There 
was  no  way  of  getting  out  of  it;  but  as  I  had  never 
yet  been  present  at  an  interview  of  this  kind  I  did 

not  refuse  Madame  B 's  request,  being  curious 

to  see  how  it  would  go  off. 

II 

Upon  the  appointed  day,  I  went  to  Madame 
B 's  an  hour  before  the  time  fixed  for  the  in- 
terview, because  I  wanted  to  learn  what  Celestine 
had  to  say  to  her  friend's  projects,  and  I  knew  that 
our  matchmaker  was  not  sparing  of  details. 

I  found  everything  upset  at  Madame  B 's ;  I 

saw  numberless  details  of  the  toilet,  such  as  fichus, 
collarettes,  artificial  flowers,  and  some  ribbons  were 


8         SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

spread  out  on  the  sofa ;  the  servant  was  running 
back  and  forth  with  a  pair  of  curling  tongs  in  her 

hand.  However,  Madame  B herself  was  fully 

dressed. 

"What  is  going  on  here?"  said  I,  looking  at 
all  the  finery  which  was  strewn  around  me. 

"What,  my  dear  friend,  can't  you  imagine? 
We  are  going  to  superintend  the  toilet  of  the  young 
girl  we  are  going  to  marry ;  we'll  put  the  last  strokes 
to  it  here,  for  Celestine  hasn't  much  taste,  she's 
really  not  vain  enough,  and  I  wager  that  she  will 
be  got  up  like  a  provincial ;  it  is  indispensable  that 
I  lend  a  hand  to  her  toilet." 

"  Then  I  came  too  soon  ;  I'll  take  myself  off." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  In  the  first  place  she  won't 
change  her  dress,  she  will  have  put  on  her  very 
best  one ;  and  then  it  is  of  no  consequence,  since 
you  haven't  the  slightest  intentions  in  regard  to 
Celestine." 

"  Not  the  slightest,  I  assure  you." 

"  So  you  see,  you  may  remain  ;  it  will  be  a  good 
thing  for  Celestine  to  get  a  little  used  to  adorning 
herself  before  a  man." 

"And  what  did  she  say  to  your  project? " 

"She  was  delighted  with  it  —  she  hasn't  slept 
or  eaten  since  I  told  her !  she  doesn't  know  what 
she  is  saying  or  doing  —  in  fact,  she's  quite  lost 
her  head." 

"  Poor  girl !  perhaps  she  will  be  less  delighted 
when  she  sees  the  young  man." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK          9 

The  bell  was  rung  violently. 

"  Here's  Celestine  !  "  cried  Madame  B ,  in 

fact  the  damsel  in  quest  of  a  husband  came  into 
the  room  like  one  wild  with  fright,  saying  as  she 
entered, — 

"  I  rang  a  little  loud  perhaps,  dearest,  but  it  was 
because  I  couldn't  find  the  bell.  Since  the  morn- 
ing I  don't  know  what  I'm  doing,  I  can't  find 
anything.  I  beg  your  pardon,  monsieur,  I  didn't 
see  you." 

I  looked  at  Celestine  attentively;  never  had  she 
seemed  to  me  so  ugly  ;  she  was  wearing  a  dress  of 
dove-colored  taffeta,  a  cap  and  a  bonnet  on  top  of 
that,  a  fichu  of  black  lace  which  came  up  to  her  ears ; 
add  to  this  a  stiff  and  awkward  carriage  and  eyes 
as  red  as  a  rabbit's. 

"  Why,  my  dear,  how  badly  you  have  put  your 

things  on!"  said  Madame  B running  to  take 

off  Celestine's  bonnet.  "What  an  idea  to  dress 
your  head  like  that.  It's  very  fortunate  that  I  told 
you  to  come  early." 

"  I  thought  this  bonnet  was  so  becoming  to  me." 

"  It  makes  you  look  horrible.  Gracious,  your 
eye  is  weeping  more  than  usual  this  evening,  that's 
a  nuisance.  Have  you  been  peeling  onions  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  idea ! " 

"  We'll  put  a  cluster'  of  flowers  in  your  hair,  so 
as  to  shade  your  eye.  You'll  see.  This  black  fichu 
makes  you  look  thinner  still,  what  were  you  think- 
ing of  to  put  on  anything  that  makes  you  look 


io       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

thin  ?  As  if  you  were  not  sufficiently  so  already. 
I'm  going  to  lend  you  a  white  crossover.  And 
why  didn't  you  stick  out  your  hips  a  little,  you 
look  like  a  broom  handle." 

"  Because  I  don't  want  to  wear  anything  false." 

"What  foolishness  —  false!  false!  when  one 
hasn't  the  real  thing  one  has  to  manufacture  it,  of 
course.  Justine,  bring  me  a  good-sized  bustle." 

"  My  dearest,  I  dreamed  last  night  that  I  saw 
a  red  horse  galloping  in  the  air." 

"  That's  a  very  good  sign  —  a  red  horse  signi- 
fies that  one  will  be  successful  in  one's  undertak- 
ings—  he  was  galloping,  and  that  means  that  your 
marriage  will  shortly  take  place." 

"  And  then  I  mounted  the  horse  — " 

"  That's  a  good  sign  too.  Sit  down  there  and 
let  me  do  your  hair  over." 

Madame  B tried  several  flowers  on  Celes- 

tine's  head,  and  each  time  she  consulted  me  as  to 
the  effect. 

"  How  do  you  think  it  looks  with  that  jasmine  ? " 

"  Why,  the  jasmine  isn't  ugly." 

"  It  is  too  pale.  Let's  try  this  red  poppy.  Hey, 
what  do  you  say  ? " 

"  I  like  the  poppy  well  enough." 

"  No,  it  is  too  dark.  Let's  see  these  jonquils. 
Do  you  think  they  look  better  ? " 

"  The  jonquils  don't  look  bad." 

"  Oh  good  heavens  !  what  was  I  going  to  do  ? 
a  yellow  bouquet  —  how  very  stupid  of  me  !  how 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        n 

horrid  !  Take  it  off,  quick  !  Ah,  this  rose,  the 
rose  is  perfect,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  must  say  the  rose  doesn't  please  me  half  as 
well." 

"  You  are  wrong.  Celestine,  you  will  wear  the 
rose.  But  goodness !  how  your  eye  weeps  this 
evening.  You  must  lower  it,  do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  And  the  other,  my  dearest  ?  " 

"  You  must  lower  the  other  also,  that  goes  with- 
out saying ;  you  would  make  a  pretty  grimace  if 
you  tried  to  raise  one  of  them  and  lower  the  other. 
I'm  going  to  put  in  two  little  combs  and  you  will 
be  charming." 

The  poor  girl  allowed  her  friend  to  do  what  she 

would  to  her  head  ;  but  while  Madame  B was 

affixing  the  combs  I  heard  her  say,  in  a  low  tone, — 

"  How  old  did  you  tell  them  I  was,  my  friend  ? " 

"  Twenty-eight." 

"  I  begged  you  to  say  thirty-two." 

"  Leave  me  alone  to  do  things  well.  When  a 
woman  says  she's  twenty-eight,  people  know  very 
well  that  she  is  thirty-two." 

"  But  I  am  thirty-five." 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it  —  provided 
that  you  don't  look  it." 

At  length  the  toilet  was  finished  ;  Madame 

B made  Celestine  get  up,  turn  about  and  walk 

up  and  down  before  her  as  she  commented, — 

"  Don't  hold  yourself  so  stiff —  there  !  Don't 
swing  your  left  arm  as  though  it  was  the  sail  of  a 


12       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

windmill.  Very  well  —  what  do  you  say  to  it, 
monsieur  ? " 

"  Me  !  I  have  nothing  to  say  —  that  is  my 
opinion." 

"  You  are  very  uncompromising.  But  it  is  eight 
o'clock  ;  we  must  start." 

"  Eight  o'clock  already  ?  "  exclaimed  Celestine 
turning  pale.  "  Oh,  my  dear  friend,  I  feel  as 
though  I  should  faint." 

"  I  should  advise  you  not  to  do  anything  so  fool- 
ish, above  all  before  the  gentleman  in  question.  A 
man  who  has  only  sixteen  hundred  francs  income, 
and  who  sells  corks,  would  not  marry  a  woman  who 
had  the  blues  and  fainted  ;  a  woman  who  wants  to 
indulge  in  such  nonsense  must  bring  her  husband 
a  big  dowry.  Let  us  start." 

"  One  moment,  ladies,  I  must  go  and  get  a  car- 
riage first." 

"  That  isn't  necessary  ;  it  is  fine  and  it  isn't  far ; 
we  can  go  on  foot  very  well." 

"  No,  I  declare  you  shan't  go  on  foot." 

"  You  are  too  gallant  altogether." 

There  was  no  gallantry  in  my  action  ;  but  I  would 
not  go  out  with  Mademoiselle  Celestine  on  my 
arm.  I  thought  her  a  fearsome  object ;  the  flow- 
ers and  ribbons  with  which  her  head  was  adorned 
added  to  her  ugliness  and  made  it  more  noticeable  ; 
I  dreaded  the  terrible  moment  when  I  should  have 
to  enter  the  Jardin  Turc  with  her,  and  I  regretted 
having  consented  to  escort  these  ladies. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK         13 

The  carriage  was  at  the  door  and  we  went  down. 
On  the  staircase  Celestine  trod  on  her  dress  five 
or  six  times,  and  twice  she  fell  on  my  back. 

"  You  can  see  now,"  said  I  to  Madame  B , 

"  that  I  did  well  to  take  a  carriage ;  Celestine  would 
never  have  got  to  the  Jardin  Turc  this  evening." 

"  It  is  happiness  which  makes  her  lose  control 
of  her  legs." 

"If  that  woman  were  to  be  long  in  her  present 
state  of  joy  she  would  end  by  breaking  her  nose." 

Ill 

On  arriving  at  our  destination  I  saw  that  there 
was  a  crowd  at  the  Jardin  Turc;  they  were  hav- 
ing a  "  concert-monstre  "  that  evening  and  the  con- 
course was  considerable.  I  took  my  part  bravely, 
drew  my  hat  down  on  the  nape  of  my  neck,  held 
up  my  head  proudly  and  said  to  myself,  "  They 
will  take  us  for  foreigners." 

I  don't  know  what  they  took  us  for,  but  as  we 
went  along  I  heard  a  murmur,  laughter  and  whis- 
perings, which  did  not  afford  me  any  great  amount 
of  pleasure.  I  led  the  ladies  so  rapidly  along  that 
I  upset  several  chairs,  I  believe  I  also  upset  an  ice 
which  a  waiter  was  carrying ;  but  at  length  we  were 
seated.  I  should  have  liked  to  bury  myself  in  a 
thicket,  but  as  an  appointment  had  been  made  for 
the  parties  to  meet  on  the  terrace  it  was  obligatory 
to  remain  there. 

The  "  concert-monstre  "  began,  but  the  two  ladies 


i4       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

hardly  listened  to  it ;  they  were  looking  round  for 
Dupont  and  his  friend,  who  had  not  yet  arrived. 
I  saw  some  young  men  who  paused  near  us  to  con- 
template Celestine  ;  one  of  them  said  in  a  low  tone 
as  they  went  off,  "  She  is  like  the  concert.  I  am 
exactly  of  your  opinion." 

They  played  a  very  charming  quadrille  from 
"  Venise."  I  had  forgotten  my  two  ladies,  I  was  all 
ears,  especially  when  some  one  played  a  delightful 
solo  on  the  cornet ;  but  in  the  very  middle  of  a 
fine  passage  Madame  B exclaimed, — 

"  There  they  are  !  " 

This  exclamation  had  been  so  loudly  uttered 
that  everybody  turned  to  look  at  us,  and  each  one 
muttered, — 

"  Here  they  are  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  are  some 
princes  or  celebrities  expected  here  this  evening  ? " 

Judge  of  the  general  surprise  when  the  two  gen- 
tlemen who  had  elicited  this  exclamation  were  seen. 
Dupont  was  an  ordinary  man,  but  his  companion 
was  worthy  a  description.  He  was  a  big  fellow 
over  six  feet  tall,  who  might  have  competed  for 
thinness  with  the  living  skeleton  exhibited  on  the 
boulevards  ;  his  head  was  connected  with,  or  rather 
separated  from,  his  body  by  a  neck  which  would 
have  aroused  the  envy  of  a  giraffe.  His  skin  was 
the  color  of  an  olive,  and  his  nose  was  so  flat  that 
at  a  distance  one  could  have  sworn  that  he  hadn't 
one.  Finally,  he  was  lame  of  one  foot,  which  made 
him  limp  in  a  manner  that  was  not  at  all  graceful. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        15 

I  heard  laughter  on  all  sides.  "  This  is  a  mon- 
ster evening,"  said  one. 

"  It's  better  than  the  concert,"  said  the  other. 

Meanwhile  the  two  gentlemen  had  made  their 
way  to  us.  I  had  been  careful  to  keep  chairs  for 
them,  but  even  when  seated  the  head  of  the  would- 
be  bridegroom  overtopped  all  others. 

Everybody  silently  exchanged  the  customary 

bows  and  smiles ;  only  Madame  B and  Du- 

pont  spoke.  Celestine  dared  not  raise  her  eyes, 
and  I  thought  she  did  well.  The  young  man  was 
silent  also  and  I  contented  myself  with  looking  on. 

However,  time  passed ;  the  young  people  still 
said  nothing,  but  the  gentleman  when  he  looked 
at  Celestine  made  a  grimace  which  caused  his  nose 
to  entirely  disappear,  and  Celestine  having  ven- 
tured to  open  the  eye  which  did  not  weep,  in  order 
that  she  might  examine  her  future  husband,  also 
pouted  in  a  way  that  did  not  declare  her  satisfac- 
tion precisely. 

I  saw  that  Madame  B was  in  an  ill-humor; 

she  nudged  Celestine's  elbow  and  whispered  to 
her, — 

"  Don't  pinch  your  mouth  up  like  that,  it  makes 
you  look  stupid.  I  didn't  tell  you  to  look  only 
at  the  tip  of  your  shoes." 

"Why,  I  did  look  at  something  else  and  I 
should  have  done  better  not  to  raise  my  eyes." 

"  And  why,  may  I  ask  ? " 
.  "  Because  I  think  this  gentleman  very  ugly." 


16       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  My  dear,  one  must  not  be  too  difficult  to 
please  when  one  is  thirty-five  and  hasn't  a  sou. 
Besides,  you  are  no  better-looking  than  he  is,  if 
I  must  say  so." 

"That  is  possible,  but  I  haven't  a  lame  foot." 

"You  won't  be  able  to  see  that  when  he's 
asleep." 

"  My  husband  isn't  likely  to  be  always  asleep ! " 

"  Take  care  lest  you  never  have  one." 

While  this  conversation  was  taking  place  on  my 
right,  the  following  proceeded  on  my  left. 

"  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  you  haven't  said  any- 
thing to  me  about  this  young  lady." 

"  Because  I  haven't  found  anything  to  say." 

"You  should  have  put  on  two  cravats  this 
evening." 

"  I  put  on  three  of  them." 

"  Then  you  should  have  put  on  four,  that  would 
have  made  your  neck  look  better.  What  do  you 
think  of  the  young  lady  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  is  very  ugly." 

"  Well,  I  don't  say  she  is  positively  pretty,  but 
she  has  one  of  those  faces  to  which  one  can  get 
accustomed.  And  then  her  virtues,  her  good  quali- 
ties, those  are  the  most  essential  things  in  a  house- 
hold." 

"  Yes,  but  she  is  very  ugly." 

"  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  you  don't  think  your- 
self a  Spartacus  do  you  ?  with  your  lame  foot,  your 
long  neck,  and  your  flat  nose  ?  " 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK         17 

"  I  know  perfectly  well  what  I  am,  but  that 
doesn't  prevent  me  from  having  an  eye  for  beauty." 

"  I  advise  you  to  have  an  eye  for  it  at  a  distance 
then.  For,  when  one  has  nothing  more  to  offer 
it  than  your  salary  and  the  corks,  beauty  is  likely 
to  be  rather  stand-off." 

"  Then  I  shall  not  marry." 

"  And  they'll  say,  '  He's  not  married  because 
nobody  would  have  him  ! ' 

They  stopped  talking.  Dupont  was  displeased, 
he  saw  the  wedding  feast  which  had  loomed  in  the 

distance  disappearing ;  Madame  B was  greatly 

vexed  because  this  was  the  ninth  match  that  Celes- 
tine  had  missed.  The  young  man  beat  time  with 
his  lame  foot  and  pretended  to  be  occupied  en- 
tirely with  the  music  ;  and  Celestine  began  to  look 
about  her,  the  presence  of  this  gentleman  being 
quite  indifferent  to  her. 

Time  passed ;  they  were  playing  the  last  piece 
but  one  of  the  concert.  I  was  silently  examining 
the  two  persons  my  friend  had  wished  to  unite  in 
marriage,  and  I  began  to  think  that  they  were  well 

matched.  Dupont  and  Madame  B ,  on  the 

contrary,  were  losing  all  hope  of  uniting  them. 

The  most  ridiculous  idea  came  into  my  head,  and 
when  Dupont  said  to  me  in  a  piteous  tone, "  The 

thing  has  failed,"  and  Madame  B added, 

"There's  an  incompatibility  of  temper  there,"  I 
said  softly,  "Perhaps!"  which  made  them  tremble 
with  joy  ;  then  I  said  aloud  to  the  whole  party, — 

Vol.  XIX 


i8       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN   LIFE 

"It  occurs  to  me  we  might  now  be  doing  some- 
thing better  than  listening  to  the  music.  Come, 
we'll  go  and  sit  in  that  shrubbery  at  a  table.  I 
propose  that  the  company  shall  have  some  punch 
which  I  will  supply ;  that  will  enliven  us  a  bit,  I 
hope,  for  I  really  think  we  need  enlivening." 

My  proposition  was  accepted.  I  bravely  offered 
my  arm  to  Celestine  (it  must  be  confessed  that 
a  large  part  of  the  audience  had  dispersed),  the 
others  followed  me,  and  I  ordered  a  bowl  of  rum 
punch.  The  punch  came  and  I  poured  it  out. 

"  I'm  very  fond  of  it,"  said  Celestine,  "but  I 
never  drink  it;  I'm  afraid  it  will  go  to  my  head." 

"  Oh,  come,  my  dear,  you  needn't  pretend  to 

be  so  abstemious,"  said  Madame  B , "  you  like 

it,  drink  it.  If  it  goes  to  your  head  you  will  have 
to  be  a  little  idle  tomorrow." 

M.  Pincelure,  for  that  was  the  name  of  the  big 
young  man,  exclaimed, — 

"As  for  me,  I  can  drink  punch  without  ever 
being  in  the  least  put  out.  When  I  followed  the 
French  army  to  Spain  I  often  drank  it.  I  have 
a  very  strong  head,  nothing  affects  it." 

I  looked  after  M.  Pincelure,  who  swallowed  the 
punch  like  so  much  skim  milk,  and  Celestine,  who 
seemed  to  be  accustomed  to  it  and  made  no  more 
ceremony  about  drinking  it.  Our  bowl  was  not 
finished  when  I  ordered  a  second ;  then,  as  I  had 
foreseen,  the  punch  began  to  have  its  effect ;  we 
were  a  good  deal  more  cheerful  than  we  had  been 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK         19 

before  coming  into  the  shrubbery.  Madame  B 

hummed  the  "Gustave  "  galop  which  the  orchestra 
was  playing.  Dupont  rocked  back  and  forth  in 
his  chair,  stuffed  himself  with  macaroons,  and 
ogled  the  ladies.  M.  Pincelure  talked  at  random 
and  Celestine  laughed. 

"  By  Jove  !  hurrah  for  music,"  said  the  tall  gen- 
tleman, "  it  sets  one  a-going.  I  don't  dance  be- 
cause of  my  lame  foot,  but  I  like  dancing  all  the 
same.  Only  once  did  I  risk  dancing  a  galop,  then 
I  fell  on  my  partner  and  half  the  couples  fell  on 
top  of  us." 

"I  can't  dance  in  time,"  said  Celestine,  "I  have 
no  ear,  and  I  mix  up  all  the  figures  and  put  the 
other  dancers  out.  But  I  don't  often  have  that 
trouble;  when  I  go  to  a  ball  I  am  always  a  wall- 
flower, no  one  invites  me  to  dance." 

"  And  they  always  refuse  me." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  " 

"  The  gentlemen  call  me  —  well,  I  don't  like  to 
tell  you  what  they  call  me." 

"  The  ladies  call  me  a  giraffe." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  " 

"  It's  going  on  well,"  whispered  Madame  B , 

while  I  continued  to  fill  the  glasses. 

"  He's  more  amiable  than  I  had  thought  at 
first,"  whispered  Celestine,  speaking  of  M.  Pince- 
lure. 

"  She  seems  like  a  very  good  sort,"  said  the  big 
gentleman,  speaking  of  Celestine. 


20       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

I  was  careful  to  enliven  the  conversation. 

"Monsieur,"  said  I, addressing  Pincelure,  "you 
are  modest,  but  you  must  confess  that  a  lame  foot 
doesn't  prevent  one  from  having  love  adventures." 

"  That  is  possible,  but  as  to  me,  mine  have 
never  had  agreeable  conclusions.  Once  some- 
body appointed  to  meet  me  in  a  narrow  street ;  I 
waited  there  for  two  hours  and  ended  up  by  being 
watered  in  a  very  disagreeable  fashion.  Another 
time  I  was  talking  with  a  lady,  and  all  at  once  she 
said  to  me,  '  There's  my  husband,  we  must  get 
away/  and  she  set  off  running.  I  tried  to  do  the 
same,  but  I  fell  in  the  middle  of  the  street  and  was 
beaten  by  the  husband.  Decidedly,  I  must  re- 
nounce love." 

"  And  what  about  marriage  ?" 

"  I  must  do  the  same  by  that  more  positively 
still.  An  old  fortune-teller  told  me  that  if  I  ever 
married  I  should  be  a  —  " 

"A  what?" 

"I  should  be,  oh,  hang  it — these  ladies  under- 
stand what  I  mean." 

The  ladies  laughed  heartily,  Celestine  so  much 
that  she  cried,  which  improved  her  looks  because 
it  equalized  her  eyes;  M.  Pincelure  never  once 
stopped  talking,  except  when  he  put  his  glass  to 
his  lips,  which  happened  very  often. 

We  had  passed  more  than  an  hour  in  this  man- 
ner under  the  bushes ;  the  concert  was  ended,  we 
were  not  noticed ;  we  were  having  a  "  monstre  " 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        21 

conversation  which  replaced  the  music;  Celestine 
continued  to  repeat, — 

"  Why  he  is  quite  a  pleasant  person,  is  this  tall 
gentleman !  " 

And  M.  Pincelure  kept  on  saying, — 

"This  young  lady  doesn't  look  half  so  bad  when 
one  sees  her  in  the  shade." 

Suddenly  two  big  drops  of  rain  fell  into  our 
punch. 

"  Good  heavens !   here  is  a  storm,"  exclaimed 

Madame  B ,  "and  I've  got  on  my  pretty  lilac 

bonnet." 

"And  I  my  very  best  dress,"  said  Celestine,  still 
laughing. 

"Come  under  the  tents,  ladies,  you  will  be 
under  shelter ;  and  perhaps  it  will  pass  off." 

"I  don't  think  it  will  pass  off,"  said  I, "  besides, 
it  is  half  past  eleven  and  it  would  be  much  the  better 
plan  to  make  sure  of  a  cab." 

"  Half-past  eleven.  Gracious  !  how  the  time 
has  flown." 

M.  Pincelure  had  taken  Celestine's  arm  to  lead 
her  to  a  tent,  and  when  they  got  there,  it  might  be 
from  forgetful  ness,  it  might  be  from  premeditation, 
but  Celestine  left  her  hand  within  the  tall  gentle- 
man's arm. 

The  storm  increased.  I  ran  to  the  gate,  but  I 
could  only  see  one  cab.  I  engaged  it  and  returned 
to  my  party. 

Dupont  and  Madame  B were  occupied  in 


22       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

turning  up,  the  one  her  gown,  and  the  other  his 
trousers,  so  as  to  protect  them  from  the  rain ;  I 
made  a  sign  to  M.  Pincelure  from  a  distance ;  he 
came  running  with  Celestine,  I  made  them  come 
out  of  the  garden,  I  pushed  them  towards  the  cab, 
and  made  them  get  into  it. 

"  But  Madame  B ,"  stammered  Celestine. 

"  Don't  be  uneasy  about  her ;  her  dwelling  is 
in  a  different  direction,  I  will  take  her  home." 

"But  M.  Dupont?" 

"  He's  already  well  on  his  way." 

"But—" 

"But—" 

I  did  not  listen  further ;  I  shut  the  door  of  the 
cab  on  them.  The  punch,  the  storm,  my  hurry- 
ing them,  had  all  made  them  confused  ;  and  the 
cabby,  to  whom  I  had  given  Celestine's  address, 
had  made  his  horses  start  before  they  knew  where 
they  were. 

I  returned  to  Madame  B . 

"  Where  is  Celestine  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  What 
have  you  done  with  her  ? " 

"  I've  just  married  her." 

"  Oh,  what  a  good  joke  !  " 

"  I'll  wager  now  that  she  will  espouse  M.  Pince- 
lure." 

"  Really  !   But  where  are  they  ?  Come,  tell  me  ? " 

"  Gone  off  in  a  cab,  the  pair  of  them." 

"  In  a  cab  together  —  what  have  you  done  ? 
Have  you  no  regard  for  decency  ?  " 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK         23 

"  What  makes  you  think  it  will  be  outraged  ? 
Besides,  when  a  marriage  is  to  follow  one  may  well 
excuse  a  small  thing  like  that.  And  I  wager  again, 
that  a  marriage  will  take  place.  For  instance,  it 
will  cost  you  a  muddy  dress  and  a  slightly  damp- 
ened bonnet,  for  the  cab  they  have  taken  is  the 
last  one  —  there  isn't  another  on  the  boulevard." 

"  I  regret  nothing  if  you  are  successful !  but  I 
must  confess  that  I  have  never  yet  seen  a  marriage 
made  in  that  fashion." 

IV 

A  month  later  my  prediction  was  fulfilled ;  Celes- 
tine  became  Madame  Pincelure.  I  do  not  know 
whether  the  horoscope  of  the  fortune-teller  was 
fulfilled  also ;  all  the  probabilities  were  against  it. 

This  is  the  one  solitary  instance  of  my  being 
mixed  up  in  the  arranging  of  a  marriage ;  many 
people  break  their  necks  and  lose  much  valuable 
time  in  order  to  arrive  at  this  end  —  my  receipt  is, 
however,  very  simple,  and  for  it  nothing  is  neces- 
sary but  two  bowls  of  punch. 


ON  THE  CANAL  BANKS 

WE  have  old  Paris,  modern  Paris,  and  gothic 
Paris ;  we  have  also  neighborhoods  in 
Paris  which  aspire  to  be  of  the  Renaissance,  of 
which  the  denticulated  houses,  the  crenellated 
walls,  and  the  arched  and  pointed  windows,  are 
supposed  to  recall  the  times  of  Francis  I.  We 
have  some  new  streets  laid  out  by  rule  and  line  ;  a 
pavement  on  which  anybody  may  fall  without  hurt- 
ing himself;  flagstones  which  break,  but  which  are 
not  used ;  sidewalks  on  which  the  wheels  of  car- 
riages often  roll,  which  is  rather  unsafe  for  the 
passers-by  but  is  very  handy  for  the  cabbies ;  we 
have  gas  which  shames  the  ancient  lanterns,  but 
which  has  never  shamed  the  moon  ;  we  have  beau- 
tiful shops  with  ugly  signs ;  stunning  cafes,  re- 
splendent with  glass  and  gilding,  and  lights  which 
appear  and  disappear  like  Seraphin's  marionettes ; 
we  have  fashionable  bakers,  where  one  can  get  little 
cakes,  cream,  wine,  liqueurs  —  in  fact  everything 
except  bread.  We  no  longer  have  beggars,  but  we 
have  an  infinite  number  of  street  fakirs  who  sell 
cures  for  the  toothache  and  other  ills,  and  of  poor 
women  who  sing  and  carry  a  half-dressed  baby  in 
their  arms  meanwhile  ;  in  fact  we  have  a  great  many 
things  in  Paris  —  we  are  very  rich  ;  the  most  pre- 
judiced person  can  make  no  mistake  at  all  as  to 
that. 

But  what  we  have  had  for  some  years  back,  what 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        25 

is  only  now  beginning  to  assume  the  aspect  of  a 
promenade,  of  a  neighborhood  of  Paris ;  what  you 
do  not  know,  perhaps,  if  you  live  in  the  noble  Fau- 
bourg or  the  rich  neighborhood  of  the  Bourse,  but 
which  you  will  know  probably  in  another  twenty 
years,  if  you  live  so  long,  are  the  banks  of  the 
canal,  those  new  quays  which  begin  after  La  Vil- 
lette  basin  and  stretch  as  far  as  the  old  ditches  of 
the  Bastile. 

The  canal  banks  were  for  a  long  time  deserted, 
lonely,  muddy,  even  dangerous ;  there  are  still  a 
great  many  parts  of  the  banks  where  I  would  not 
advise  you  to  walk  alone  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
evening  with  nothing  but  an  umbrella  in  your  hand; 
but  in  many  others  fine  houses  have  been  built 
which  seem  to  raise  themselves  proudly  and  splen- 
didly beside  the  ramshackle  hovels  of  the  market 
gardeners  which  are  still  standing  here  and  there. 

They  have  planted  poplars  all  along  the  canal ; 
the  poplars,  which  prefer  the  water  to  gas  pipes, 
are  much  better  grown  and  more  flourishing  than 
those  on  the  boulevards  in  the  interior  of  the  city, 
where,  in  some  years,  one  would  have  been  hard 
put  to  it  to  find  a  tree  that  was  doing  well,  owing 
to  the  pipes  which  surrounded  their  roots. 

The  canal  banks  afford  a  very  curious  scene, 
lively  and  cheerful  when  the  sun  shines ;  it  is  the 
country  part  of  Paris.  You  may  see  there  im- 
mense vessels  filled  with  coal,  little  amateur  barks, 
the  vigilant  washerwomen  who,  with  bodies  half 


26       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

bent  over  the  water,  work  and  chatter,  making  fun 
of  the  passers-by,  and  pointing  out  to  each  other 
the  good  bourgeois  who  is  giving  his  dog  a  swim. 

Here  is  a  thrifty  housewife  who  comes  to  see  the 
coal  she  is  buying  measured  before  her;  lower 
down,  a  poor  woman,  on  her  knees  near  the  edge 
of  the  water,  is  washing,  often  without  soap,  her 
children's  garments  ;  a  little  farther  off  is  a  gentle- 
man who  is  walking  back  and  forth,  coming  and 
going,  always  towards  the  same  neighborhood,  who 
pauses,  looks  at  his  watch,  makes  an  impatient 
movement  and  begins  to  walk  again ;  from  the 
elegant  appearance  of  this  gentleman  you  infer  at 
once  that  he  is  not  in  his  proper  neighborhood ; 
that  he  is  an  exotic  being  is  recognized  at  the  first 
glance ;  if  he  has  come  to  the  banks  of  the  canal 
it  is  only  in  the  hope  of  meeting  there  no  one 
whom  he  knows  except  the  lady  he  is  expecting, 
but  with  whom  he  would  not  like  to  be  seen  else- 
where. The  banks  of  the  canal  are  very  convenient 
trysting  places ;  one  can  discern  one's  friends  when 
they  are  still  far  off. 

Near  the  Faubourg  du  Temple  the  banks  of 
the  canal  are  very  crowded  and  almost  brilliant ; 
there  are  at  that  point  famous  Vendanges  de  Bour- 
gogne,  where  one  may  gather  grapes  all  the  year 
round.  There  is  also  a  relay  of  omnibuses,  a  watch 
box  with  one  sentinel,  some  venders  of  gingerbread, 
some  stray  dogs.  It  looks  like  an  imitation  Pont- 
Neuf.  A  little  farther  on  you  see  the  huge  bonded 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK         27 

warehouses  so  well  placed  on  the  banks  of  the  canal, 
and  which  receive  the  merchandise  from  the  ship 
which  carries  it,  as  in  Venice  the  custom-house 
officers  receive  the  travellers  who  are  still  in  the 
lagoons. 

But  what  is  going  on  down  there  ?  Quite  a  crowd 
of  people  has  assembled.  Is  it  a  man  who  has 
shot  himself  ?  Is  it  a  street  arab  who  is  bathing 
in  spite  of  the  ordinance  ?  Is  it  an  amateur  fish- 
ing ?  Is  it  a  dog  swimming  ?  Is  it  some  mysteri- 
ous object  which  they  see  floating  in  the  water  and 
in  regard  to  which  they  are  making  their  conjec- 
tures ?  Why,  no,  it  is  simply  the  bridge  turning 
to  let  a  big  vessel  through. 

You  will  see  the  crowd  thicken  on  each  bank 
and  the  vehicles  form  a  line.  Then  you  will  be 
obliged  to  hear  such  conversations  as  these  which 
take  place  on  both  sides  of  the  water,  often  between 
people  who  do  not  know  each  other;  but  one  soon 
makes  acquaintance  on  the  canal  banks. 

"  My  dear  lady,  just  imagine  my  vexation,"  says 
an  old  woman  muffled  in  a  shapeless  cap,  her  body 
wrapped  in  an  old  scarf  which  looks  exactly  like 
bed-ticking ;  her  feet  clad  in  old  furred  slippers, 
over  which  she  has  put  a  big  pair  of  shoes  and 
to  which  she  has  attached  pattens,  so  that  as  she 
walks  the  dame  makes  nearly  as  much  noise  as  a 
horse.  The  lady  also  has  on  her  arm  an  enormous 
market-basket,  in  which  there  is  the  material  for 
a  pot-au-feu,  some  butter,  a  three-volume  novel, 


28       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

some  trout,  a  large  package  of  cloves,  some  cat's 
meat,  two  skeins  of  thread,  a  loaf  of  coffee  bread, 
some  onions,  a  bottle  of  blacking  and  a  toothbrush. 

The  person  whom  she  addresses  is  a  stout,  moth- 
erly woman  sixty  years  old  or  thereabouts,  who  is 
so  stout  that  one  might  compare  her  in  size  to  the 
columns  they  have  built  on  the  boulevards,  and 
whose  figure  is  exactly  like  a  feather-bed  tied  in  the 
middle ;  there  is  in  her  dress  and  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  her  hair  something  of  pretension,  of  van- 
ity even,  as  though  she  thought  to  make  an  im- 
pression even  now.  Her  dress,  which  is  rather 
short,  discloses  two  posts  covered  with  black  wool- 
len hose  and  a  foot  which  looks  horribly  squeezed 
in  a  very  well-blacked  shoe  ;  her  head  is  covered 
with  a  cap  with  barbes  floating  in  the  breeze  and 
trimmed  with  immense  bows  of  ribbon  which  were 
once  pink  ;  this  structure  is  perched  very  far  back 
on  her  head,  perhaps  intentionally,  perhaps  blown 
there  by  the  high  wind,  and  shows  a  red,  pimpled 
face,  with  two  enormous  tufts  of  black  hair  as  glis- 
tening as  her  shoes,  in  curls  made  to  resist  rain 
and  wind. 

"This  is  very  unfortunate  for  me,"  says  the  lit- 
tle old  woman  who  carries  the  basket,  addressing 
the  stout  lady  who  has  stopped  beside  her,  "  and 
on  this  of  all  mornings,  when  I  am  a  little  late 
owing  to  the  play  being  so  long  last  night,  that  in 
Belleville  no  one  can  recall  such  a  prolonged  rep- 
resentation." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        29 

"  Madame  is  an  actress  at  the  Belleville  the- 
atre ? "  asks  the  stout  motherly  woman,  looking 
with  more  interest  at  the  person  who  spoke  to  her. 

"  No,  not  I,  my  dear,  but  my  daughter  —  a 
pretty  brunette  whose  appearances  have  made  so 
much  noise  that  they  talk  of  nothing  else  in  the 
whole  neighborhood ;  you  must  have  seen  her, 
she  made  her  first  appearance  in  *  Cidre,'  and  she 
takes  the  part  of  Chimene.  I  am  Chimene's 
mother  and  I  dare  say  she  will  make  me  famous ; 
everybody  looks  at  me  as  I  go  by  just  as  they  do 
at  my  daughter  and  I  hear  them  whispering,  'That's 
Chimene's  mother,  her  real  mother.'  How  fortu- 
nate it  is  to  have  children  who  are  the  pride  of  our 
declining  years ;  my  daughter  will  go  from  Belle- 
ville to  the  Fran£ais  or  at  least  to  Franconi's, 
especially  as  she  has  a  liking  for  tumbling,  and  she 
rides  a  donkey  very  well.  But  to  come  back  to 
what  I  was  saying,  we  woke  very  late  this  morn- 
ing, and  this  is  positively  the  day  for  pot-au-feu. 
We  are  as  regular  as  clockwork  —  twice  a  week  we 
have  beef —  the  broth  is  necessary  for  my  daugh- 
ter, it  is  a  necessary  part  of  her  diet.  I  dressed 
hurriedly  to  get  to  market.  I  got  some  trout  too, 
Chimene  likes  them  very  much.  I  say  Chimene 
by  force  of  habit  —  she  has  been  so  applauded  in 
that  part  and  everybody  made  her  a  complimen- 
tary call  after '  Cidre  ' ;  there  was  no  one  except  the 
author  that  I  did  not  see,  and  he  had  not  even  the 
politeness  to  send  her  a  letter  of  congratulation. 


30      SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

I  thought  that  rather  disobliging  on  his  part.  I 
hope  my  daughter  will  remember  it  when  he  writes 
another  play,  if  he  offers  her  a  part." 

"  Did  you  have  to  pay  much  for  your  fish  ? " 

"  Don't  ask  me,  it's  enough  to  make  one  cry ; 
that  is  to  say,  my  dear,  that  if  the  price  of  it  keeps 
up  we  shan't  be  able  to  eat  it  any  longer." 

"Are  they  never  going  to  get  this  ship  through  ? " 

"  What  an  immense  one ;  it  must  have  come  from 
the  sea.  What  is  it  loaded  with  ?  " 

"  Marble,  they  say." 

"  What  nonsense !  they  can't  carry  marble  on 
the  water,  it  is  too  heavy,  it  would  sink ;  they 
needn't  tell  the  mother  of  an  actress  such  things  as 
that !  To  come  back  to  what  I  was  telling  you, 
I  went  to  get  my  provisions  and  then  I  thought  I 
would  go  to  my  bookseller's  to  get  something 
to  read  this  evening —  I  should  never  go  to  sleep 
if  I  didn't  have  a  book  in  my  hand.  I  don't  know 
what  he  has  given  me.  Have  you  read  this  ? " 

"  *  Victor,  or  the  Child  of  the  Forest  ? '  No,  is 
it  new  ? " 

"  He  told  me  it  had  just  come  out,  and  the  min- 
ute I  saw  the  title  —  a  child  and  a  forest  —  I  was 
satisfied  ;  I  said  to  myself,  f  It  is  impossible  that  it 
shouldn't  be  interesting  —  emotional.' ' 

"  The  ship  isn't  moving." 

"  Why  do  they  make  the  bridges  so  narrow. 
They  might  leave  enough  room  for  passers-by 
and  the  ships  too." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        31 

"  Ah,  there's  a  man  jumping  on  the  vessel  that 
he  may  get  across  quicker  —  that's  very  impru- 
dent—  and  he's  an  old  man  too.  Now  he's  going 
to  climb  up  on  to  the  other  side.  Ah,  he's  done 
it  —  that's  a  man  who's  got  his  sea  legs  on.  To 
come  back  to  what  I  was  telling  you,  what  makes 
me  most  uneasy  is  that  I  left  my  milk  on  the  fire 
and  it's  had  plenty  of  time  to  foam  over  and  be  all 
dried  up." 

"  Isn't  your  daughter  there  to  watch  it?  " 
"Why,  do  you  suppose  I  would  want  to  see 
Chimene  bother  herself  about  the  details  of  the 
household?  In  the  first  place  she  has  to  study 
her  parts,  that's  a  good  deal  more  in  her  sphere. 
I  shall  have  to  buy  some  milk,  besides,  for  I  in- 
tended to  make  her  some  potato  cakes  presently, 
my  Chimene  is  passionately  fond  of  them.  Ah, 
there's  the  bridge  turning  now,  that's  a  good  thing, 
but  who's  pushing  like  that  ?  Do  they  think  there 
won't  be  any  room  left  for  them  in  the  Faubourg 
du  Temple?  Why,  that  is  my  neighbor,  M.  Gros- 
mignon,  one  of  our  steady  theatregoers,  who 
always  brings  Chimene  oranges  with  verses  —  in 
the  season.  Where  are  you  running  to  like  that, 
neighbor  ?  He  doesn't  pay  any  attention  to  me — 
he  must  be  in  a  great  hurry.  Perhaps  he  left  some 
milk  on  the  fire.  Oh,  when  I  pass  over  one  of 
these  movable  bridges  it  always  has  such  a  funny 
effect  upon  me  to  feel  the  ground  swaying  beneath 
me,  it  always  gives  me  the  shivers.  I  don't  think 


32       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

I  could  ever  be  well  in  a  country  where  there  were 
earthquakes.  Do  they  affect  you  like  that,  my 
dear  ? " 

The  stout,  motherly  woman  to  whom  this  ques- 
tion is  addressed,  and  who  walks  upon  the  bridge 
with  as  much  unconcern  as  the  townswoman,  an- 
swers smiling, — 

"  I  never  even  totter ;  I  have  never  once  fallen 
in  my  life." 

"That's  lucky  for  her,"  remarks  a  workman  who 
is  passing  by ;  "  for  who  would  want  to  pick  her 
up?" 

Chimene's  mother  has  crossed  the  bridge,  as  has 
also  the  fat  lady  ;  the  latter  turns  to  the  right  while 
the  first  goes  up  the  Faubourg,  shouting  to  her 
new  acquaintance, — 

"  You  live  in  the  Rue  Folie-Mericourt,  where 
they  have  a  hospital  for  sick  dogs  ;  my  cousin  has 
just  put  her  spaniel  there.  You  must  come  to 
Belleville  when  Chimene  plays." 

Let  us  leave  these  ladies  to  return  to  their 
homes  ;  let  us  leave  a  crowd  of  government  em- 
ployees who  live  in  Belleville,  to  hasten  to  cross 
the  bridge  so  as  not  to  be  late  in  returning  to  their 
offices  ;  this  walk  must  be  quite  fatiguing  to  those 
who  live  near  the  Pare  Saint- Fargeau,  and  work  at 
the  Treasury  or  the  offices  of  the  Minister  of  War; 
but  at  Belleville  one  can  live  very  cheaply  and  one 
has  a  "  little  garden." 

This  little   garden   is   particularly  affected    by 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        33 

clerks  and  people  who  are  obliged  during  the  day 
to  busy  themselves  with  figures  and  writing ;  they 
say  to  themselves,  "  A  garden  is  very  restful  after 
the  fatigue  of  the  day's  work,  the  rush  of  business; 
one  can  there  breathe  the  perfume  of  the  flowers 
and  roll  on  the  grass  as  well  as  if  one  were  in  the 
country."  It  is  these  little  gardens  which  take  to 
Belleville  or  Batignoles  a  great  many  people  who, 
but  for  them,  would  be  living  in  Paris. 

And  in  truth  is  there  anything  more  delightful 
than  a  garden,  for  a  person  who  has  only  a  few  hours 
after  dinner  to  recreate  himself.  You  leave  your 
office  at  half-past  five,  if  you  are  fortunate  enough 
to  leave  so  early.  If  you  live  "  extra  muros  "  you 
reach  home  very  tired ;  you  dine,  that  is  the  first 
thing  essential,  and  without  giving  yourself  time  to 
drink  your  coffee,  you  go  into  your  "little  garden" 
to  see  how  a  shrub  that  you  planted  the  evening 
before  is  getting  on.  You  find  the  plant  in  very 
bad  shape,  the  branches  are  drooping,  the  leaves 
are  fading ;  you  think  it  lacks  water,  you  hasten  to 
your  soft-water  conduit  if  you  have  one,  to  your 
rain-water  butt  if  you  have  no  conduit,  you  fill 
your  watering-pots,  and  you  restore  life  and  ver- 
dure to  your  shrub ;  then,  while  you  are  at  it,  you 
find  you  must  also  water  your  dahlias,  your  rose- 
bushes, your  strawberries,  and  your  grass,  in  short, 
water  is  needed  everywhere,  and  you  flourish  your 
watering-pot  with  a  zeal  worthy  of  a  Cincinnatus, 
you  empty  your  conduit  or  your  butts.  When  you 

Vol.  XIX 


34       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

have  finished  this,  you  take  your  pruning  shears  — 
every  individual  who  has  a  garden,  however  small 
it  may  be,  has  a  pair  of  pruning  shears — you  ex- 
amine all  your  trees  and  cut  the  dead  or  objection- 
able branches  and  if  you  wish  you  can  always  find 
something  to  cut.  Besides,  you  have  bought 
pruning  shears  and  you  must  use  them. 

When  you  have  cut,  pruned  and  trimmed  to 
your  heart's  content,  you  amuse  yourself  by  scrap- 
ing off  the  moss  that  has  gathered  on  your  fruit 
trees,  and  if  you  set  yourself  to  it  conscientiously 
and  wish  to  clean  a  tree  thoroughly  you  can  spend 
a  couple  of  hours  over  a  very  small  peach  tree;  you 
certainly  cannot  scrape  all  your  trees  in  one  even- 
ing. You  see  that  the  fertilizer  that  you  bought 
to  enrich  your  soil  and  make  your  plants  grow  is 
not  well  mixed  with  the  earth  ;  you  go  to  look  for 
your  spade  and  you  set  yourself  to  turning  over 
the  soil ;  you  spade,  and  from  time  to  time  you 
take  out  the  stones  that  you  find  ;  you  put  them  in 
a  heap  and  when  the  perspiration  is  pouring  down 
your  forehead  (one  easily  gets  overheated  when 
digging)  you  go  and  look  for  your  wheelbarrow  to 
take  away  your  stones;  if  you  have  no  wheelbarrow, 
you  take  your  little  boy's  or  your  little  girl's ;  for 
in  a  small  garden  one  can  get  along  with  a  small 
wheelbarrow,  but  one  must  make  four  journeys 
instead  of  one. 

Hardly  have  you  disposed  of  your  wheelbarrow, 
when  down  you  go  on  your  knees  to  pull  out  the 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        35 

weeds  and  wire-grass  that  are  choking  your  plants; 
after  a  time  you  find  you  are  no  longer  able  to 
distinguish  good  plants  from  bad ;  it  is  because 
the  dusk  has  surprised  you  while  still  gardening. 
You  rise,  you  make  a  horrible  grimace;  your  wife 
asks  you  what  is  the  matter  with  you  —  one  who 
owns  a  small  garden,  necessarily  has  a  wife  and 
children  —  and  you  tell  her  that  your  back  is  very 
bad.  She  scolds  you  because  you  tire  yourself 
too  much  gardening;  as  your  only  answer  you 
demand  the  rake,  and  you  continue  to  rake  your 
paths  until  it  is  quite  dark.  And  I  once  knew  a 
gentleman  who  attached  a  lantern  to  his  rake,  and 
exercised  himself  in  this  way  while  his  family  slept. 

Finally  you  put  aside  the  rake.  Your  wife  says 
to  you  in  a  tender  voice — nearly  all  women  have 
tender  voices  when  their  husbands  are  tired  — 
"  Come  in  and  rest,  my  dear ;  come  and  sit  down 
under  the  arbor,  you  have  worked  long  enough." 

You  yield  to  your  wife's  insistence  and  you  go 
and  sit  down  under  the  arbor;  for  however  small 
the  garden,  there  must  be  an  arbor  there.  Some- 
times it  is  true  the  vine  or  the  honeysuckle  which 
one  has  planted  around  it  obstinately  refuses  to 
climb  on  the  trellis,  to  ornament  the  top  with  its 
leaves ;  which  is  often  the  reason  there  is  no  shade 
under  your  arbor ;  but  all  the  same,  you  go  and 
take  refuge  in  it  during  the  very  hot  weather,  and 
while  sweltering  in  the  sun  you  are  content  if  you 
can  but  say,  "  I  am  under  my  arbor." 


36       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

But  even  there  you  must  not  imagine  that  our 
amateur  gardener  yields  to  the  sweetness  of  repose; 
he  remembers  that  he  needs  some  supports  for  his 
dahlias ;  he  takes  his  pruning  knife,  and  begins 
to  cut  and  pare  some  large  pieces  of  wood  which 
will  serve  to  protect  his  flowers  against  the  "  si- 
moon "  of  the  neighborhood.  When  at  length, 
overwhelmed  with  fatigue,  he  decides  to  go  to  bed, 
he  is  firmly  resolved  to  find  relief  from  the  strain 
of  ofHce  work  in  his  little  garden  at  break  of  day, 
before  it  is  time  for  him  to  go  to  Paris. 

To  the  amateur  gardeners  who  do  not  wish  to 
go  so  far  afield  as  Belleville  or  Batignolles  to  seek 
relaxation,  I  would  say  that  there  are  little  gardens 
all  along  the  canal,  and  that  they  do  not  need 
watering  often ;  all  one  has  to  fear,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  that  they  will  be  watered  too  much. 

Let  us  follow  the  course  of  the  water;  this 
neighborhood  is  not  inhabited  by  the  aristocracy. 
Some  rich  retired  people  who  wish  to  enjoy  the 
sight  of  the  water  have,  however,  taken  apartments 
in  some  new  houses  which  have  been  built,  but  in 
general  it  is  the  working  classes  who  people  these 
new  quays ;  and  those  who  walk  there  wear  their 
morning  garb,  their  working  clothes  and  workshop 
blouses.  People  in  conventional  dress  are  notice- 
able; when  they  come  there,  it  is  probably  not 
the  walk  alone  which  attracts  them. 

With  night,  the  banks  of  the  canal  assume  a 
calm  and  peaceful  aspect,  which  is  not  without 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        37 

charm  to  those  who  wish  to  meditate  or  to  talk 
unobserved.  Gas  does  not  as  yet  illumine  it,  and 
when  the  moon  does  not  think  fit  to  show  herself 
one  must  walk  cautiously  on  these  banks,  which 
are  not  yet  completely  paved,  and  which  only  have 
sidewalks  here  and  there. 

You  will  meet  drunkards ;  drunkards  are  very 
fond  of  walking  by  the  water,  but  they  rarely  fall 
in ;  they  stagger  along,  not  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  that  would  be  too  tame  for  them,  but  quite 
on  the  edge  of  the  bank ;  they  sway  about  con- 
tinually, and  one  would  imagine  he  saw  a  tight 
rope  dancer,  walking  without  balancing.  One 
trembles  for  them,  then  one  remembers  that  there 
is  a  special  providence  for  drunkards,  lovers,  and 
children. 

It  is  growing  late  and  there  are  fewer  saunterers. 
What  young  couple  is  this  walking  so  slowly  and 
often  stopping  to  talk,  never  unlinking  their  arms, 
gazing  so  attentively  at  each  other  that  they  often 
splash  themselves  in  the  gutter  because  neither 
one  nor  the  other  of  them  ever  thinks  of  looking 
to  see  where  they  are  going  to  ? 

The  young  man  wears  a  cloth  jacket,  canvas 
trousers,  an  otter-skin  cap  on  his  head ;  he  must 
be  a  workman.  The  woman  has  on  a  cotton  print 
gown,  a  striped  apron,  a  very  simple  cap,  in  which, 
however,  she  looks  very  pretty ;  she  must  be  a 
grisette. 

"Jenny,"  says  the  young  man,  tenderly  pressing 


38       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

the  arm  which  rests  so  confidingly  in  his,  "be 
easy,  don't  grieve  —  your  brother  will  not  go,  you 
can  reassure  your  mother ;  her  son  Julien  whom 
she  loves  so  much  will  not  be  obliged  to  leave 
her." 

"  But,  Pierre,  how  can  it  be  helped  ?  My 
brother  drew  an  unlucky  number  in  the  conscrip- 
tion, he  must  go,  he  must  be  a  soldier ;  how  do 
you  think  he  can  become  exempt?  We  have  not 
the  wherewithal  to  buy  a  substitute;  I've  econo- 
mized as  much  as  possible,  but  embroidery  brings 
in  so  little  —  and  then  my  mother  is  often  ill.  I 
don't  want  her  to  sit  up  at  night  and  tire  herself 
all  out  with  work.  My  poor  mother,  she  is  so 
fond  of  Julien ;  she  will  be  inconsolable  when  he 
is  gone.  Suppose  it  should  kill  her  ?  for  she  loves 
my  brother  much  better  than  she  does  me,  and  I 
could  never  console  her  for  his  absence." 

As  she  says  these  words,  the  young  girl  covers 
her  eyes  with  her  hand  ;  but  the  young  man  ex- 
claims,— 

"  Once  more,  Jenny,  don't  cry ;  your  brother 
shall  stay  with  you  —  with  your  mother.  I  will 
take  his  place —  I  have  drawn  in  the  conscription 
for  two  years  past  and  did  not  draw  a  number  — 
and  I  haven't  a  relation  to  regret  me,  nor  a  mother 
to  kiss  me  every  night  and  care  for  me  during  the 
day,  so  you  see  that  I  can  very  well  go." 

"  You,  Pierre  !  you  become  a  soldier  ?  you  take 
Julien's  place?  Oh,  no,  you  shall  not  go  —  for 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        39 

you  love  me,  Pierre,  and  you  know  very  well  that 
I  love  you." 

"  It  is  for  that  reason,  Jenny,  that  I  should  do 
all  in  my  power  to  render  you  happy.  Your  mother 
doesn't  like  me  much  ;  when  I  told  her  that  I 
wished  to  be  your  husband,  she  said  to  me, '  You 
don't  earn  enough  money, you  haven't  agood  trade.' 
H  o wever,  it  isn't  so  bad  to  be  a  cabinet-maker ;  above 
all,  when  one  is  industrious.  But  there,  no  matter ; 
I  am  going  to  take  Julien's  place,  I  am  decided  as 
to  that.  It  was  to  tell  you  so  that  I  asked  you 
to  meet  me  here.  I  only  wanted  to  pray  you  to 
love  me  still  and  not  to  forget  me.  When  I  come 
back  your  mother  will  not  refuse  to  let  you  marry 
me,  for  she  will  remember  that  through  me  she 
was  able  to  keep  her  son  with  her." 

"  Oh,  Pierre,  what  you  are  doing  for  us  is  very 
kind.  And  if  I  am  not  faithful  to  you  I  shall  be 
the  most  ungrateful  of  women.  How  happy  my 
mother  will  be  !  how  pleased  !  I  must  go  at  once 
and  tell  her  that  my  brother  need  not  leave  her." 

"  Yes,  go,  Jenny,  go  at  once  and  make  my  reso- 
lution known  to  her.  Tomorrow  I  will  come  and 
bid  her  good-by,  and  I  hope  she  will  receive  me 
better." 

"  Oh,  Pierre  !  how  good  you  are  !  I  am  very 
pleased  —  but  very  sad  too." 

"  Good-by  for  the  present,  Jenny  ;  go  back  to 
your  mother." 

The  two  young  people  stop.     Jenny  presses 


4o       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

Pierre's  hand  and  turns  as  if  to  leave  him,  then 
she  comes  towards  him  again,  murmuring  another 
good-by.  She  seems  ready  to  kiss  the  man  who 
has  made  so  noble  a  sacrifice  ;  but  the  young  work- 
man looks  at  her  tenderly,  and  goes  off  without 
kissing  her.  He  fears  to  seem  to  ask  a  price  for 
his  good  action. 

Let  us  go  on  again;  a  little  further  along,  on 
a  very  gloomy  part  of  the  quay,  do  you  not  notice  a 
gentleman  dressed  fashionably,  with  lemon-colored 
gloves  and  a  carved  cane,  who  seems  to  lead  rather 
than  to  walk  with  a  young  woman  whose  very  be- 
coming dress  and  stylish  carriage  easily  show  that 
she  lives  in  the  d'Antin  neighborhood  ? 

The  lady  disengages  her  arm  and  says, — 

"  Where  are  you  taking  me  to,  Alfred  ?  this  is 
a  very  lonely,  very  unpleasant-looking  place.  What 
a  singular  walk  for  you  to  have  chosen.  You  always 
have  such  queer  ideas.  I  don't  wish  to  go  any 
farther,  I  want  to  go  back  to  the  boulevard  where 
we  left  our  carriage." 

The  gentleman  keeps  hold  of  the  lady's  arm 
and  says  to  her,  in  a  voice  which  he  tries  to  render 
solemn, — 

"  Stay,  Amanda,  stay ;  this  place  is  fitting  for 
what  I  have  to  say  to  you  and  for  the  project 
I  have  formed." 

<c  I  tell  you  I  am  frightened  here  !  " 

"Am  I  not  with  you?" 

"All  the  more  reason  for  my  fear.      For  some 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        41 

time  past,  I  don't  know  what  you  have  in  your 
mind,  but  you  are  not  nice  at  all." 

"  Amanda,  it  is  because  I  am  thinking,  reflect- 
ing." 

"  I  don't  like  men  who  reflect." 
"  I  am  pondering  a  very  serious  problem." 
"  Which  you  could  just  as  well  communicate  to 
me  elsewhere  —  at  the  theatre,  for  instance.     I 
should  be  quite  willing  to  go  and  see  the  f  Pilules 
du  Diable '  this  evening." 

"Amanda, there  is  no  question  of ' Pilules';  what 
I  want  to  propose  to  you  here  is  better  than  that. 
Not  only  shall  you  know  my  project,  but  you  can 
help  me  to  execute  it.  Listen  to  me,  Amanda ; 
I  have  now  been  acquainted  with  you  for  a  year, 
we  have  loved  each  other,  we  have  tasted  together 
all  the  joys  of  life ;  you  have  a  fortune,  and  I  have 
one  also,  which  has  permitted  us  to  satisfy  all  our 
fancies,  all  our  caprices  even  ;  plays,  balls,  con- 
certs, promenades,  soirees,  cards,  dress,  horses,  din- 
ners, restaurants,  we  have  exhausted  them  all,  and 
having  exhausted  all  that  life  has  to  offer  that  is 
most  attractive  we  have  nothing  more  to  expect  — 
let  us  end  our  lives  suddenly,  let  us  leave  in  a  way 
that  will  cause  every  one  to  talk  about  us,  to  read 
about  us  in  the  papers.  Let  us  throw  ourselves 
into  the  canal  locked  in  each  other's  arms." 

"  How  horrible  !  what  a  frightful  idea.  Well, 
yours  is  a  pretty  plan,  indeed  !  And  it  was  to  tell 
me  this  that  you  brought  me  to  the  canal  banks  ? 


42       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

Why,  it  is  shameful !  Let  go  of  my  arm,  M.Alfred; 
let  go  of  me  at  once,  or  I  shall  call  the  guard." 

"  What,  Amanda,  doesn't  the  idea  of  dying  with 
me  delight  you  ?  " 

"  No,  monsieur,  it  doesn't  delight  me  at  all. 
You  have  gone  mad  or  foolish,  my  dear  friend. 
You  haven't  been  able  to  make  people  talk  about 
you  while  you  were  living,  and  you  want  they 
should  talk  about  you  after  you  are  dead.  They 
will  say  you  were  an  idiot  for  killing  yourself,  and 
though  that  may  be  what  you  want  it  doesn't  tempt 
me  at  all." 

"  But  Amanda,  to  die  together  in  each  other's 
arms  —  floating  on  the  water." 

"  For  shame  with  you  !  I  have  no  desire  to  float 
on  the  water.  All  is  over  between  us.  I  should 
never  dare  again  to  be  alone  with  a  man  who  wants 
to  kill  himself,  who  dares  propose  to  me  that  I 
should  throw  myself  in  the  canal.  Take  a  spaniel 
to  bear  you  company,  monsieur,  he  will  accept  your 
offer  because  he  has  the  ability  to  get  out  of  the 
water  and  leave  you  there  ;  but  as  for  me  —  go 
back  with  you,  never !  I  forbid  you  in  the  future 
to  come  to  my  house ;  besides,  I  shall  take  care 
to  warn  the  porter  against  admitting  you," 

"  Amanda,  please,  listen  to  me  !  " 

"  Don't  come  near  me,  or  I  shall  call  somebody; 
I'll  have  you  arrested  Goodness,  M.  Alfred  ; 
Werthers  and  Antonys  are  all  very  well  on  the 
stage,  but  they  should  never  pass  the  footlights." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        43 

As  she  finishes  these  words  the  young  lady  takes 
her  course  through  one  of  the  streets  that  lead  to 
the  boulevard,  and  M.  Alfred  remains  alone  on 
the  banks  of  the  canal,  quite  out  of  countenance 
at  the  ill-success  of  his  proposition.  He  walks 
about  for  some  time  in  an  undecided  manner  ;  sud- 
denly he  goes  towards  the  water,  he  steps  over  the 
chains,  approaches  the  edge  of  the  bank  and  leans 
over  —  is  he  going  to  throw  himself  in  ?  No,  he 
pulls  out  his  handkerchief,  blows  his  nose,  and 
going  back  faster  than  he  had  come,  regains  the 
boulevard,  muttering  to  himself,  "  I  shall  wait  till 
I  can  find  a  woman  who  will  bear  me  company." 

We  will  let  this  madman,  this  fool  go,  who 
thinks  he  has  exhausted  the  pleasures,  the  enjoy- 
ments of  life,  and  who  has  perhaps  never  succored 
the  unfortunate,  never  known  a  son's  kiss,  never 
felt  his  heart  beat  for  his  country.  Such  men  as 
these  kill  themselves  that  people  may  read  of  their 
death  later  on  in  a  "  Fait  Paris."  When  ridicule 
has  overtaken  this  new  folly,  it  will  be  less  con- 
tagious. 

But  it  is  now  midnight,  the  banks  of  the  canal 
are  deserted ;  but  who  is  this  little  girl  who  runs 
alone,  half-dressed,  all  along  this  quay  ?  She  can- 
not be  more  than  twelve  years  old ;  her  pale,  in- 
telligent face  expresses  sorrow,  despair  even ;  big 
tears  fall  from  her  eyes  and  broken  words  escape 
her  lips. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to,  my  child  ?  "  says  a 


44       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

gentleman  who  happens  to  be  in  the  little  girl's 
path,  and  who  is  struck  by  the  disorder  of  her 
dress  and  the  agitation  of  her  features.  "  Where 
are  you  running  alone  so  late  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  monsieur." 

"  What !  you  don't  know  where  you  are  going  ? " 

"  No,  monsieur,  but  I  am  going  away  for  I  can't 
stay.  I  can't  see  mamma  beaten,  it  makes  me  feel 
too  sorry." 

"  Come,  compose  yourself  and  tell  me  all  your 
trouble." 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  my  father  came  home  late  and 
he  was  tipsy  and  very  ugly  —  and  he  beat  mamma ; 
she  cried,  and  I  came  away,  monsieur,  for  I  can- 
not bear  to  see  mamma  cry.  I  will  never  go  back 
home.  No,  I  will  never  go  back  there." 

And  the  little  girl  is  about  to  run  off  again,  to 
walk  she  knows  not  where ;  her  heart  revolts  al- 
ready at  an  injustice,  her  young  head  is  excited, 
and  the  imagination  of  twelve  years  cannot  under- 
stand that  any  one  can  stand  coldly  by  and  witness 
suffering  which  they  cannot  soften.  Will  she  be 
sensitive  as  a  woman,  she  who  feels  so  keenly  as 
a  child  ? 

The  gentleman  has  some  trouble  in  making  the 
young  girl  understand  that  her  flight  would  aug- 
ment her  mother's  grief  and  that  her  duty  is  to 
stay  with  her  parent  and  share  her  sorrow. 

The  child  has  gone  in,  and  no  one  passes  along 
the  edge  of  the  water  but  some  lovers,  drunkards, 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        45 

thieves,  or  some  dwellers  in  the  neighborhood,  who 
are  late  coming  home,  perhaps  because  they  have 
been  to  a  theatre  where  they  play  three  dramas 
and  two  vaudevilles  during  the  evening,  which  is 
highly  imprudent  when  one  lives  on  the  canal 
banks. 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    MARK 

YOU  must  know  that  Mademoiselle  Adelinde 
Desroseau  was  full  forty  years  of  age,  and  had 
what  are  termed  the  fine  remains  of  a  woman,  but 
women  in  general  prefer  new  trifles  to  fine  remains; 
men  have  no  taste  for  them. 

Mademoiselle  Adelinde  at  twenty  years  of  age 
had  been  surrounded  by  men  eager  to  pay  their 
homage,  to  flatter,  to  charm ;  they  had  all  been 
eager  to  please  her,  to  obtain  her  favor,  a  glance, 
a  smile,  or  even  a  contra-dance.  Then  it  had  only 
remained  with  the  young  girl  to  make  her  choice 
and  take  a  husband.  She  had  not  made  her  choice, 
or  she  had  made  too  many  of  them  —  at  least,  so 
said  the  evil  tongues;  at  any  rate  she  had  not 
married. 

At  thirty  Mademoiselle  Adelinde  was  still  very 
good-looking.  She  had  lost  her  parents  and  in 
consequence  enjoyed  full  liberty.  She  did  not  lack 
admirers,  and  perhaps  found  it  very  pleasant  to 


46       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

discard  those  who  wearied  her  to  choose  anew; 
Mademoiselle  Adelinde  had  still  forgotten  to  take 
a  husband. 

She  thought  of  it,  however,  later  on  when  she  no 
longer  saw  around  her  the  supplicants  for  her  favor. 
She  had  passed  her  fortieth  year  without  perceiving 
it  and  thought  it  very  extraordinary  that  others  had 
perceived  it.  Mademoiselle  Adelinde  believed 
herself  the  same  as  at  twenty,  she  was  sure  that 
her  heart  had  not  changed,  that  it  was  as  inflamma- 
ble, as  loving  as  in  former  times.  No  one  took 
any  exception  to  this,  but  they  left  her  heart  to 
feed  on  its  own  flames. 

Mademoiselle  Adelinde  said  to  herself,  "  I 
want  a  husband,  I  must  have  one,  young  or  old, 
ugly  or  handsome,  no  matter  what  or  who  so  long 
as  I  have  some  one  to  love.  However,  I  should 
greatly  prefer  him  to  be  young  and  pleasing.  I 
have  two  thousand  francs  income,  that  is  not  a  for- 
tune, but  still  it  is  something.  Come,  I  must  try 
some  great  expedients,  and  since  no  one  among  my 
acquaintances  is  minded  to  marry  me  I  must  ad- 
vertise in  the  *  Petites-Affiches.'  After  all  that 
is  as  good  a  way  as  any.  They  advertise  a  good 
many  hotels  and  chateaux  in  it,  and  I  don't  see  why 
they  shouldn't  advertise  a  woman ;  certainly  I 
don't  pretend  to  be  of  as  much  value  as  a  chateau. 
Now  to  compose  my  announcement  and  have  it 
inserted." 

Mademoiselle  Adelinde  set  herself  to  this  duty, 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        47 

and  some  days  later  people  read  in  the  "Petites- 
Affiches,"— 

A  middle-aged  lady  of  very  pleasing  appearance,  well-edu- 
cated, accustomed  to  the  best  society,  and  possessed  of  two 
thousand  francs  income,  wishes  to  marry  as  soon  as  possible. 
Address  the  party  herself,  from  noon  to  four  o'clock.  Ask  for 
Mademoiselle  A . 

This  announcement  was  followed  by  the  exact 
address  of  Mademoiselle  Adelinde  who,  never 
doubting  that  the  "  Petites-Affiches  "  would  send 
her  a  crowd  of  aspirants  to  her  hand,  dressed  her- 
self carefully  every  day,  and  from  midday  to  four 
o'clock  did  not  venture  to  leave  her  apartments  for 
fear  of  missing  her  husband. 

But  alas,  whether  it  was  that  the  "  Petites-Affi- 
ches" had  lost  its  vogue  among  Parisians,  or 
whether  the  latter,  too  often  deceived  by  lying  ad- 
vertisements, were  unwilling  to  expose  themselves 
to  be  again  taken  in,  poor  Adelinde  was  let  in  for 
four  months'  expenses  for  her  toilet  and  the  in- 
sertion of  her  notice ;  no  one  came  to  see  this 
damsel  who  desired  to  marry  so  promptly  —  no 
one  —  not  even  those  old  gadabouts,  those  curious 
fellows  who,  because  time  hangs  heavy  on  their 
hands,  will  go  anywhere  where  there  is  something 
to  be  seen  gratis. 

Mademoiselle  Adelinde  was  vexed,  she  bewailed 
her  fate,  she  got  angry ;  she  was  on  the  point  of 
tears,  but  refrained,  remembering  that  crying  would 


48       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

spoil  her  eyes.  She  sat  down  in  front  of  her  mir- 
ror, examined  herself,  and  exclaimed, — 

"  They  won't  even  come  to  see  me,  the  idiots ! 
if  they  did  I  should  very  soon  be  married,  I  am 
sure  ;  for  I  am  good-looking,  I  am  still  very  good- 
looking —  I  think  I  am  even  better  looking  than 
I  was  at  twenty —  I  have  gained  in  some  things." 

Mademoiselle  Adelinde  placed  her  head  in  her 
hands  and  reflected  for  a  few  moments,  then  she 
muttered, — 

"  I  want  a  husband  — I  must  have  one." 

Suddenly  an  idea  came  to  her,  one  of  those 
happy  inspirations,  unique,  divine,  which  poets, 
composers,  and  painters  often  await  uselessly  dur- 
ing whole  weeks,  and  which  they  had  much  better 
not  wait  for  at  all,  because  inspiration  is  a  word 
invented  by  the  idle,  who  thereby  lose  their  time 
and  accomplish  nothing. 

Mademoiselle  Adelinde  rewrote  her  announce- 
ment, and  after  these  words,  "  Address  the  party 
herself  from  noon  to  four  o'clock,"  she  added, 
"  To  those  who  come  without  having  had  time  to 

breakfast,  Mademoiselle  A will  willingly  offer 

something." 

"  With  this  addition  to  my  advertisement  I  am 
quite  sure  that  some  people  will  come  to  me,"  said 
Mademoiselle  Adelinde  to  herself.  "  They  will 
see  me,  and  that  is  all  I  wish,"  and  she  hurried  to 
the  office  of  the  "  Petites-Affiches,"  where  she  paid 
for  her  new  notice. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        49 

This  novel  expedient  was  completely  successful; 
on  the  same  day  on  which  the  article  appeared, 
several  men  presented  themselves  to  see  the  lady 
who  desired  to  marry,  and  all  confessed  that  they 
had  forgotten  to  breakfast.  Mademoiselle  Ade- 
linde  did  the  honors  of  her  table  with  infinite 
grace,  to  one  she  offered  pasty,  to  another  fowl. 
She  made  herself  amiable,  she  talked.  The  gentle- 
men ate  and  drank ;  they  seemed  delighted  with 
her,  and  there  was  not  one  of  them  who  on  leav- 
ing did  not  seem  disposed  to  marry  her. 

The  next  day  the  crowd  of  visitors  was  more 
considerable ;  and  on  the  day  after  that  the  num- 
ber was  still  further  increased.  Mademoiselle  Ade- 
linde  was  obliged  to  keep  an  open  dining-room ; 
all  these  gentlemen  had  confounded  appetites. 
The  pasty  and  fowl  were  insufficient,  Mademoi- 
selle Adelinde  did  not  know  what  to  do  first;  her 
house  had  become  a  restaurant,  and  if  it  continued 
she  would  bring  down  all  restaurateurs'  prices  to 
twenty-five  sous. 

The  poor  lady  began  to  see  that  her  income 
would  not  hold  out  if  she  went  at  this  pace.  The 
aspirants  to  her  hand  who  still  came  without  hav- 
ing had  time  to  breakfast  would  soon  leave  her 
without  a  sou,  and  then  it  was  probable  she  would 
find  it  still  harder  to  marry.  Besides  the  conduct 
of  these  visitors  was  sometimes  outrageously  un- 
conventional; they  not  only  came  to  eat,  but  they 
also  drank  without  stint,  and  the  porter's  assistance 

Vol.  XIX 


5° 

was  sometimes  necessary  to  induce  them  to  leave 
the  place. 

Mademoiselle  Adelinde  one  day  suppressed  the 
fowl,  the  next  day  the  pasty ;  in  fact  she  ended  by 
offering  a  glass  of  water  only  to  those  who  desired 
to  take  something.  The  number  of  visitors  fol- 
lowed the  same  gradation  as  that  of  the  comesti- 
bles ;  they  ceased  entirely  when  it  came  to  the  glass 
of  water. 

"  Men  are  monsters,  unworthy  beings,  carnivo- 
rous brutes,"  said  Mademoiselle  Adelinde  to  her- 
self, when  she  found  herself  alone  before  her  mirror. 
"  They  came,  they  saw  me,  they  have  eaten  and 
drunk,  and  not  one  of  them  has  really  thought  of 
marrying  me.  What  conduct  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, which  boasts  so  much  enlightenment,  prog- 
ress, and  civilization  !  To  come  and  sponge  on 
a  poor  lady  and  not  even  to  kiss  her  hand.  The 
base  deceivers !  But  all  the  same  I  want  a  husband ; 
I  will  and  must  have  one —  I  have  settled  that  in 
my  mind.  Let  me  think  of  another  expedient 
and  one  which  shall  prove  less  expensive ! " 

Mademoiselle  Adelinde  again  put  her  head  in 
her  hands  and  set  her  wits  to  work;  suddenly  she 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy  and  jumped  off  her 
chair  as  she  cried, — 

"  This  time  I  am  bound  to  be  successful !  this 
will  prove  unfailing.  I  know  these  men  —  they 
will  want  to  know — but  that  is  where  I  shall  fool 
them.  Quick  !  let  me  rewrite  my  announcement." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK         51 

And  Mademoiselle  Adelinde  striking  out  the 
breakfast,  put  in  its  place,  "  The  person  who 
wishes  to  marry,  thinks  that  she  ought  to  warn 
those  who  present  themselves  with  marriage  as 
their  object,  that  she  has,  four  inches  above  the 
left  garter,  a  mark  of  the  most  wonderful  beauty. 

Mademoiselle  A wears  her  garter  above  the 

knee." 

This  new  notice  was  carried  to  the  "  Petites- 
Affiches  "  and  she  awaited  the  result  with  consid- 
erable anxiety. 

Again  visitors  presented  themselves ;  these  lat- 
ter were  something  more  amiable  than  those  who 
only  came  to  eat;  they  arrived  with  smiles  on 
their  lips  and  a  sprightly  and  gracious  manner; 
they  talked,  they  joked,  then  they  led  the  con- 
versation to  the  mysterious  mark  and  exhibited 
their  desire  to  see  it. 

But  that  was  where  Mademoiselle  Adelinde 
was  ready  for  her  company.  She  then  assumed 
an  expression  of  greater  reserve,  she  compressed 
her  lips  and  answered  as  she  lowered  her  eyes, 
"  My  husband  alone  will  see  it." 

"  But,  mademoiselle,  it  is  perfectly  natural  that 
one  should  want  to  see  it  before  engaging  one's 
self." 

"  Nevertheless,  monsieur,  no  one  will  see  it 
until  after  the  marriage." 

"Then,  mademoiselle,  why  did  you  have  that 
notice  put  in  the  *  Petites-Affiches'  ? " 


52       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  Because  I  did  not  wish  to  deceive  anyone, 
monsieur,  and  was  quite  willing  to  warn  those  who 
wanted  to  marry  me  that  I  had  a  little  peculiarity 
above  the  left  garter." 

These  answers  piqued  the  curiosity  of  the  visi- 
tors. They  pressed,  they  insisted,  they  demanded 
at  least  some  details.  But  Mademoiselle  Adelinde 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  their  prayers,  all  their 
arguments ;  she  would  let  them  see  nothing ;  sev- 
eral of  these  gentleman  returned  the  next  day  in 
the  hope  of  being  more  fortunate. 

Matters  remained  at  this  point.  Mademoiselle 
Adelinde  received  numberless  visits,  but  she  had 
not  yet  found  a  husband,  because  the  French  are 
distrustful  and  always  suspect  jokes  even  in  the 
most  serious  matters. 

Everybody  talked  a  good  deal  in  society  about 
the  mysterious  mark  of  this  damsel  who  was  so 
desirous  of  marrying.  They  laughed  and  joked 
about  it, — 

"  It's  some  trap,"  the  young  men  would  say. 
But  they  wished  greatly  to  see  it,  and  they  got 
into  disputes  over  it  and  even  betted  on  it;  each 
one  hoped  to  be  more  fortunate  than  those  who 
had  preceded  them.  The  handsome  bachelors 
thought  that  the  lady  would  never  be  able  to  re- 
sist them,  that  she  would  let  them  see  her  sign. 
So  they  would  go  to  call  on  Mademoiselle  Ade- 
linde, they  went  to  expense  in  their  dress,  they 
tried  to  surpass  each  other  in  gallantry  and  amia- 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        53 

bility,  but  their  efforts  were  in  vain,  they  were 
obliged  to  come  away  without  having  seen  any  thing. 
Mademoiselle  said  to  herself, — 

"In  the  end  one  of  them  will  marry  me,  if  not 
for  love  it  will  be  out  of  curiosity." 

One  fine  day  an  Englishman,  who  came  to  Paris 
in  the  unique  hope  of  amusing  himself,  heard  tell 
of  Mademoiselle  Adelinde  and  her  mark.  He 
thought  at  first  it  was  a  joke,  but  the  "Petites- 
Affiches"  convinced  him.  This  Englishman  had 
a  good  deal  of  conceit  and,  like  all  of  his  nation,  he 
desired  above  all  to  surpass  the  French  in  a  thou- 
sand things. 

"  Demmit,"  said  Sir  Hastings  to  himself,  "  all 
these  young  men  of  Paris  have  been  unsuccessful 
in  their  attempts  to  see  the  mysterious  mark  on  this 
lady ;  as  for  me  I'm  going  to  be  a  little  sharper 
than  they,  and  I  wager  that  I  shall  accomplish  my 
object  satisfactorily." 

Sir  Hastings  bought  the  "  Petites-Affiches," 
took  a  cab,  and  had  himself  driven  to  the  address 
indicated  in  the  paper.  He  went  first  to  the  porter. 

"You  have  in  this  house,  I  believe,  a  young 
lady  who  has  a  sign  ? " 

The  porter  looked  at  the  Englishman,  opening 
his  big,  stupid  eyes  wide  as  he  said, — 

"A 'cygne?'1  Oh,  no.  There  are  some  ladies 
who  have  dogs  or  cats  but  I  don't  know  one  who 
has  a  cygne." 

i  "  Cygne,"  a  iwan. 


54       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  I  tell  you  that  you  have  in  the  house  a  mature 
little  girl  —  middle-aged  —  who  has  a  mysterious 
mark  above  the  garter." 

"A  mysterious  mark?  what  do  you  mean  by 
that?" 

"  A  sign,  a  peculiar  mark  —  something  that  one 
doesn't  show  —  do  you  understand?  You  are 
stupid." 

The  porter  did  not  understand  in  the  least ;  at 
length  the  Englishman  thought  to  show  him  the 
advertisement  in  the  "  Petites-Affiches  "  and  the 
porter  remembered  Mademoiselle  Adelinde.  He 
pointed  out  her  door  to  Sir  Hastings,  who  pre- 
sented himself  to  the  damsel  in  search  of  a  husband 
and  after  greeting  her  very  civilly  said  to  her  very 
seriously, — 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  should  like  to  see  your  mark." 

"  Milord,  I  have  already  said  to  all  the  persons 
who  have  addressed  similar  requests  to  me,  that  no 
one  could  see  it  till  after  they  had  married  me." 

"  That  is  really  your  ultimate  decision  ? " 

"Yes,  milord." 

"  You  will  show  nothing  without  that  ? " 

"  Not  the  slightest  thing,  milord." 

The  Englishman  reflected,  looked  hard  at 
Mademoiselle  Adelinde,  scratched  his  forehead 
and  went  off  like  a  shot  out  of  a  gun. 

He  had  gone  straight  to  a  notary  to  have  a  mar- 
riage contract  drawn  up. 

A  week  later  Adelinde  was  Lady  Hastings,  and 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        55 

the  Englishman  said  with  the  air  of  a  conquering 
hero  as  he  looked  round  on  the  young  men  whom 
he  had  heard  discussing  the  mysterious  mark, — 

"  I  knew  very  well  that  I  should  be  sharper  than 
you.  I  have  seen  the  mark  —  and  it  exceeded 
my  expectations." 

"  Deuce  take  it,  we  could  also  have  seen  it  at 
the  same  price,"  one  of  them  would  say  to  him, 
"  but  we  were  not  willing  to  do  so.  Come,  Sir 
Hastings,  in  good  faith  confess  that  it's  a  mere 
trifle,  a  nothing,  just  one  of  those  little  moles  that 
we  see  every  day." 

The  Englishman  never  would  answer  these 
questions. 


THE   GRISETTES'   TRICK 

IMAGINE,  first  of  all,  two  young  girls  about 
twenty  years  old.  The  first,  whom  we  will  simply 
call  Aline,  was  tall,  slender,  well-made,  her  hair 
and  her  eyes  being  very  dark,  accentuated  the 
fairness  of  her  skin  ;  her  mouth,  which  was  maybe 
a  trifle  large,  contained  teeth  of  which  a  princess 
might  have  been  jealous  ;  her  hand,  white  and 
beautifully  moulded,  had  been  admired  by  a 
sculptor ;  and  her  leg — well,  in  truth,  I  can't  tell 
you  anything  at  all  about  her  leg,  because  I  never 
saw  it,  and  that  is  very  vexatious,  for  I  should 


56       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

probably  have  had  something  nice  to  tell  you  about 
Mademoiselle  Aline's  limb.  Here  I  see  my  read- 
ers pause  to  say  to  me, — 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  Author,  this  is  a  true  story 
you  are  going  to  tell  us,  since  you  confess  that 
you  know  this  Mademoiselle  Aline.  This  is  not 
a  tale  made  up  to  please,  a  little  story  originated 
solely  for  the  recreation  of  your  readers,  and  which 
no  doubt  later  on  will  be  reproduced  on  the  stage 
in  the  form  of  a  vaudeville." 

No,  reader,  I  am  not  telling  you  a  fairy  tale, 
we  must  leave  that  to  the  Arabians,  to  nurses,  and 
to  grandmothers ;  as  for  me,  I  am  relating  to  you 
an  incident  that  really  happened,  which  was  told 
to  me  by  one  of  the  parties  to  it.  I  have  only 
changed  the  names  and  the  positions  of  some  of 
the  personages,  because  it  is  always  necessary  for 
a  writer  to  change  something,  if  it  only  be  to  give 
the  impression  that  he  originated  it.  Now  you 
know  what  you  can  rely  on,  we  will  go  on. 

Mademoiselle  Aline  was  very  pleasing.  She 
was  a  modest  embroideress,  she  had  some  mind 
and  a  sensitive  heart,  which  are  more  often  found 
together  than  one  would  believe,  for  stupid  people 
are  generally  much  less  easily  moved  than  those 
who  have  wit,  for  the  very  simple  reason  that  the 
mind  being  the  way  to  the  heart,  when  one  has 
no  mind  one  has  a  heart  without  a  way  to  it,  so 
that  it  must  be  rather  difficult  to  get  to  it. 

I  will  return  to  Mademoiselle  Aline.     Twenty 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        57 

years,  pretty,  well-made,  an  embroideress  and  sen- 
sitive, she  should  have  made  love  her  sweetest 
pastime  and  her  principal  occupation ;  she  should 
have  had  at  least  one  sweetheart;  have  left  him 
when  he  was  inconstant ;  have  replaced  him  when 
he  was  jealous,  and  adored  him  when  he  was  a 
heedless  fellow.  She  ought  to  have  thought  of 
her  lover  when  going  for  her  little  jar  of  cream 
and  her  half  ounce  of  coffee,  in  putting  her  hair  in 
curl  papers,  and  in  threading  her  needle ;  in  fact 
she  should  have  talked  about  him  to  her  dearest 
friend  and  have  dreamed  of  him  every  night. 

Well,  nothing  of  that  sort  took  place.  Aline 
never  dreamed  of  her  sweethearts,  she  never  sighed 
after  her  lover,  she  did  not  think  she  saw  his  sweet 
image  in  a  rose,  in  the  bottom  of  a  cup,  in  a  busby 
or  in  the  cat's  tail.  She  did  not  speak  of  him  to 
her  friend,  she  did  not  wait  at  the  window  watch- 
ing for  him  in  the  street,  she  did  not  go  to  the 
play  with  him  or  dance  the  galop  and  the  cachuca 
with  him  as  her  partner,  and  all  for  a  single  reason 
which  will  suffice  you  I  hope ;  and  this  reason 
was  —  Aline  had  no  lover. 

A  grisette  without  a  lover,  you  are  going  to 
say ;  why  that's  a  phenomenon,  a  being  set  apart. 
It  is  a  woman  without  a  corset,  a  drawing-room 
without  a  piano,  a  salad  without  vinegar,  asparagus 
without  sauce,  a  coat  without  buttons,  and  a  na- 
tional guard  without  belts. 

But  why  had  Mademoiselle  Aline,  whom  you 


58       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

say  was  so  sensitive  and  witty,  never  experienced 
love  ?  A  savant  has  said  that  there  is  no  effect 
without  a  cause.  Anybody  could  have  said  as 
much  as  this  savant. 

Yes,  no  doubt  there  was  a  cause  for  it. 

When  Aline  was  only  twelve  years  old  she  lived 
with  an  old  aunt,  and  the  latter  had  taken  her  to 
a  card-reader  who  was  said  to  be  able  to  see  into 
the  future. 

The  good  woman  wished  to  treat  her  young 
niece,  and  instead  of  taking  her  to  the  play  she 
had  her  fortune  told.  The  card-reader,  to  make 
an  impression  on  the  plastic  mind  of  the  young 
girl,  took  her  into  a  little  room  the  walls  of  which 
were  covered  with  dark  hangings,  and  in  which  no 
door  could  be  seen  when  once  one  was  inside. 

Then  the  gypsy  had  put  on  a  black  gown,  in 
the  sleeves  of  which  she  could  have  hidden  two 
babies  and  a  four-pound  loaf  of  bread. 

She  put  on  her  head  a  great  pointed  cap,  upon 
which  were  little  scraps  of  scarlet  cloth  in  the  shape 
of  devils,  flames,  serpents,  and  great  caldrons. 

Then  she  spread  out  on  her  table  her  big  pack 
of  cards ;  for  you  know  that  card-readers  have 
several  packs.  They  are  like  those  wine  mer- 
chants who  sell  wine  at  different  prices,  but  the 
wine  is  always  the  same. 

But  the  old  aunt  had  wanted  to  do  things  gen- 
erously ;  so  she  had  paid  for  her  niece  to  have  the 
big  pack. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        59 

You  may  judge  whether  Aline  listened  calmly 
to  the  words  of  the  gypsy.  The  poor  child,  already 
greatly  impressed  by  all  that  her  aunt  has  told 
her  of  the  wondrous  talent  of  the  soothsayer, 
trembled  in  every  limb  as  she  glanced  timidly 
around  her  to  try  to  discover  a  door  by  which  she 
might  leave.  She  felt  her  heart  congeal  with  ter- 
ror, and  she  remembered  perfectly  these  words 
which  the  fortune-teller  pronounced  in  a  voice 
that  might  have  competed  with  a  cornet, — 

"  Little  girl !  destiny,  through  me,  forbids  you 
ever  to  listen  to  the  language  of  love ;  for  I  see 
that  in  the  future  men  will  bring  misfortune  upon 
you ! " 

Poor  Aline  remembered  these  words,  and  as  she 
grew  up  she  had  never  forgotten  them. 

The  old  aunt  dying,  Aline  had  gone  to  live  with 
one  of  her  friends,  the  other  young  girl  whom  I 
made  known  at  the  commencement  of  this  true 
story. 

The  latter  was  named  Stephanie ;  she  had  a 
saucy  little  nose,  very  lively  eyes  and  little  dimples 
in  her  cheeks,  she  was  fair  and  blooming,  lively 
and  cheerful. 

She  sang  all  day  as  she  worked  at  her  lace,  for 
Mademoiselle  Stephanie  was  a  lacemaker. 

Her  heart  was  always  occupied,  and  when  a  lover 
was  unfaithful  she  was  never  at  a  loss  to  replace 
him. 

And  you  may  imagine  how  extraordinary  and 


60       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

even  ridiculous  the  conduct  of  her  friend  seemed 
to  her.  She  could  not  understand  why  Aline  so 
obstinately  refused  the  devotions  of  the  young  men. 
Sometimes  she  said  to  her, — 

"Aline,  you  have  no  common  sense.  One 
doesn't  really  live  without  love,  without  an  attach- 
ment for  somebody  ;  as  often  as  not,  one  has  more 
than  one.  What  is  your  reason  for  hating  the 
men  ?" 

"I  don't  hate  them,  quite  to  the  contrary,"  an- 
swered Mademoiselle  Aline. 

"  Then  you  have  not  as  yet  met  a  single  one 
who  pleases  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  met  several  who  seemed  quite 
nice  to  me." 

"And  why,  then,  would  you  never  listen  to 
them?" 

"  Because  it  is  forbidden  to  me  to  know  love." 

"  Who  has  forbidden  you  ?  " 

"  A  gypsy,  when  I  was  quite  young,  when  I  was 
only  a  little  over  twelve.  She  read  the  cards  for 
me  and  predicted  that  I  should  be  very  unfortu- 
nate if  I  ever  listened  to  the  voice  of  love." 

"  Oh,  how  foolish  you  are.  Why,  Aline,  do 
you  believe  that  ? " 

"  Certainly,  since  she  was  a  sorcerer." 

"  You  don't  know,  then,  that  there  is  nothing 
so  nice  as  love.  If  you  were  once  to  love,  you 
would  do  nothing  else." 

"  That's  quite  possible." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK         61 

"  You  are  twenty  years  old,  you  are  pretty,  and 
you  are  not  in  love.  It's  frightful!  Listen  to  one 
of  them  at  least,  why  don't  you,  if  only  to  prove 
that  the  fortune-teller  told  you  true  ? " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  shall  be  unfortunate,  and  it  would 
be  my  own  fault." 

Stephanie  was  vexed  to  see  that  her  advice  and 
counsel  went  for  naught ;  but  she  had  got  it  into 
her  head  that  her  friend  should  experience  a  senti- 
mental feeling,  and  she  was  not  the  girl  to  hesitate 
at  difficulties. 

All  day  long  Mademoiselle  Stephanie,  who  had 
a  very  tuneful  voice,  sang  as  she  worked, — 

It  is  love,  love,  love 

That  makes  the  world  go  round. 

And  as  she  sang  she  looked  to  see  if  her  words 
had  made  any  impression  on  Aline.  When  the 
latter  seemed  absent-minded  she  would  exclaim, — 

When  one  knows  how  to  love  and  please, 
Needs  one  any  other  fortune  ? 

If  that  had  its  effect  she  would  immediately 
add,— 

From  the  moment  that  one  loves 
One  becomes  so  sweet  and  gentle. 

And  as  nearly  all  operas  and  vaudevilles  con- 
tain pieces  to  praise  the  delights  and  pleasures  of 
love,  the  young  lacemaker  had  a  big  repertory  and 
could  have  sung  for  a  long  time  on  this  subject. 

Aline  was  very  fond  of  reading  aloud,  and  her 


62       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

friend  made  her  read  "  Nouvelle  Heloise,"  "  Petit 
Jehan  de  Saintre  "  and  "  Faublas." 

Aline  was  mad  for  the  theatre,  Stephanie  took 
her  there  to  see  "Antony,"  "Joconde,"  and  the 
"  Bouquetiere  des  Champs-Elysees,"  for  they  were 
calculated  to  awaken  love  in  the  most  frigidly  con- 
stituted person. 

Aline  continued  to  treat  with  the  same  coldness 
a  handsome  fair  young  fellow  who  came  to  sigh 
under  her  casement,  who  wrote  charming  things 
on  her  door  every  day  with  chalk,  and  who  some- 
times put  bunches  of  violets  in  her  keyhole. 

Stephanie  was  in  despair  ;  she  was  for  a  moment 
tempted  to  tear  her  hair  —  and  she  probably  would 
have  done  so  had  she  had  any  white  hairs ;  but  as 
they  were  all  of  a  very  pretty  flaxen  shade  she  tore 
none  of  them  out. 

She  approached  her  friend  again  and  said  to  her 
with  an  accent  that  came  from  the  heart, — 

"Aline,  you  cause  me  much  trouble.  Don't 
you  feel  in  the  depths  of  your  heart,  that  you  lack 
something  ?  Are  you  not  tired  of  living  like  this  ?  " 

Aline  heaved  a  big  sigh  and  answered, — 

"  Yes,  really  I  am  very  much  tired  of  it.  But 
there's  the  fortune-teller's  horoscope." 

"  You  still  place  faith  in  her  skill,  then  ?  and 
what  if  I  were  to  prove  to  you  that  these  women 
don't  know  what  they  are  talking  about  ? " 

"  That  would  be  different !  But  you  can't  prove 
it  to  me ! " 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK         63 

Stephanie  struck  her  forehead  and  exclaimed, — 

"  On  the  contrary  I  can  easily  do  so.  What  was 
your  fortune-teller  called  ? " 

"  Madame  Rotomago." 

"  A  fine  name  for  a  gypsy.  Does  she  practise 
her  trade  still  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  as  to  that." 

"  Can  you  remember  her  house  distinctly  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,  and  I  think  that  for  three  francs  she 
will  tell  your  fortune ;  but  the  big  pack  costs  one 
hundred  sous,  and  I  had  the  big  pack  which  is  still 
more  infallible." 

"  Come  we'll  have  the  big  pack  and  we  will  give 
a  hundred  sous.  It  is  rather  dear.  I  confess  I 
would  rather  spend  them  on  sponge  cakes  and 
meringues ;  but  really  to  cure  you  of  your  folly 
I  am  willing  to  make  any  sacrifice.  Put  on  your 
shawl  and  let  us  go." 

Aline  was  soon  ready  and  the  young  girls  set 
out,  provided  with  the  hundred-sous  piece,  which 
would  enable  them  to  have  their  fortune  told. 
They  arrived  at  a  street  in  the  Cite. 

"  It  is  here,"  said  Aline  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  Oh,  it's  here,  is  it?"  answered  Stephanie,  and 
she  went  forward  into  an  obscure  alley,  narrow  and 
dirty,  where  she  bravely  proceeded  for  a  few  steps ; 
but  she  returned  immediately  and  said  to  her  com- 
panion,— 

"  Before  breaking  my  neck  in  there,  it  seems 
to  me  it  would  not  be  a  bad  plan  to  make  some 


64       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

inquiries ;  for  in  eight  years  the  fortune-teller  has 
very  likely  moved.  I  have  moved  seven  times  in 
one  year  myself.  Wait,  I  see  a  fruiterer's  oppo- 
site, I'll  go  there  and  inquire." 

Stephanie  went  to  the  fruiterer's  and  asked  if 
Madame  Rotomago,  card-reader,  still  occupied  the 
same  lodging. 

"  No,  of  course  not ;  she  left  this  neighborhood 
more  than  three  years  ago.  You  must  know 
Madame  Rotomago's  reputation  has  grown  — 
grown  to  such  an  extent  that  she  is  now  the  first 
fortune-teller  in  Paris." 

"  Can  it  be  possible  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear ;  she  resides  now  in  a  fine  house 
in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  here  is  a  printed 
copy  of  her  new  address." 

The  two  young  women  took  the  address  and 
directed  their  steps  towards  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  ;  but  all  along  the  road  Aline  was  sad, 
and  sighed  as  she  said  to  her  companion, — 

"You  see  very  well  that  this  woman  is  a  sorcer- 
ess, that  she  always  tells  the  truth  and  never  makes 
a  mistake,  since  she  has  made  her  fortune  and  peo- 
ple in  good  society  go  to  consult  her  also." 

"  That  proves  nothing  at  all,"  said  Stephanie, 
"we  will  still  go  to  Madame  Rotomago's." 

They  arrived  at  the  card-reader's  new  dwelling. 
It  was  a  fine  hotel,  at  the  gate  of  which  a  tall  Swiss 
covered  with  gold  lace  was  walking  up  and  down. 

The  two  grisettes  went  into  the  courtyard  and 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        65 

asked  for  Madame  Rotomago.  The  Swiss  deigned 
to  point  to  a  handsome  vestibule  and  said  to 
them, — 

"Go  in  there,  there  are  some  people  there 
already,  but  you  will  have  to  await  your  turn." 

Before  going  further,  Stephanie  reflected  that  in 
changing  her  location  the  fortune-teller  had  perhaps 
also  changed  her  prices,  and  as  she  had  only  a 
hundred  sous  in  her  pocket  she  deemed  it  prudent 
to  assure  herself  as  to  that  matter. 

She  returned  to  the  Swiss'  lodge  and  said  to 
him, — 

"Monsieur,  can  you  tell  us  what  it  will  cost  to 
get  our  fortunes  told  by  Madame  Rotomago  ? " 

"  Yes,  mesdemoiselles,  I  can  tell  you  that  very 
easily ;  it  is  twenty-five  francs  when  the  simple  pack 
only  is  asked  for,  and  fifty  francs  when  the  big 
pack  is  used." 

"  Fifty  francs!  "  exclaimed  the  two  young  girls, 
looking  at  each  other.  "  Good  heavens,  it  is  hor- 
ribly dear." 

"  The  price  is  as  fixed  as  that  of  a  penny  tart ; 
madame  never  bates  a  sou ;  on  the  other  hand,  one 
is  free  to  pay  more  if  one  has  a  fancy  to  do  so." 

"  Oh,  one  can  pay  more,  that  is  fortunate  !  but 
one  ought,  then,  to  be  able  to  pay  less  also  ? " 

"No,  mademoiselle." 

"  But  when  one  hasn't  fifty  francs  ?  " 

"  One  takes  the  small  pack  which  is  only  twenty- 
five  francs." 


Vol.  XIX 


66       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  And  when  one  hasn't  twenty-five  francs  ?  " 

"  Then  one  doesn't  present  one's  self  at  Ma- 
dame Rotomago's,  card-reader  to  all  the  princes  of 
Europe  and  the  new  world." 

The  girls  left  the  hotel  completely  dumfounded. 

"  Come  along  home,"  said  Aline,  "  you  see 
Madame  Rotomago  is  a  great  sorceress,  and  that 
we  can't  get  near  her." 

"  I  see  —  well,  I  see  that  all  this  is  humbug !  " 
exclaimed  Stephanie ;  "  we  will  go  to  that  gypsy 
—  I  wish  —  and  —  oh,  what  an  idea  !  why,  that 
will  be  delightful.  Yes,  yes,  Madame  Rotomago 
will  read  the  cards  for  us ;  she  will  read  them  with 
the  big  pack  and  it  will  not  cost  us  fifty  francs,  no 
nor  a  hundred  sous,  even." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Let  me  be,  I  have  a  plan.  Trust  to  me  ; 
come  along  !  come  along !  " 

The  two  grisettes  got  into  an  omnibus  and  re- 
turned home.  Arrived  there  Stephanie  began  by 
entirely  changing  her  dress ;  she  put  on  a  pretty 
gown,  a  little  cap,  an  elegant  apron  ;  she  was  no 
longer  agrisette,  she  was  a  fashionable  lady's  maid. 

She  made  her  friend  assume  a  similar  costume 
and  said  to  her, — 

"  Remember,  we  are  no  longer  grisettes,  we  are 
two  lady's  maids  and  our  mistress  is  the  marquise 
of — of;  wait  till  I  think  of  a  high-sounding  name, 
the  Marquise  de  Villaflorosa,  and  we  are  going  to 
take  a  cab." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        67 

"  But  I  don't  understand." 

"  Come  along,  just  the  same ;  you'll  know  all 
about  it  when  we  go  to  the  sorcerer's." 

Aline  followed  her  friend.  The  two  young  girls 
got  into  a  cab  and  had  themselves  driven  to  Ma- 
dame Rotomago's  hotel.  On  the  road  Aline  said 
to  her  friend, — 

"If  the  fortune-teller  should  recognize  me, 
should  remember  having  told  my  fortune  when  I 
was  twelve  years  old  — " 

•'  Oh,  you  are  quite  changed  since  that  time  — 
but  that  will  show  us  whether  she  is  a  sorceress 
or  no." 

The  cab  stopped  in  front  of  the  hotel ;  the 
Swiss  did  not  recognize  them.  They  went  straight 
to  the  vestibule  and  entered  a  large  room  where 
several  persons  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  admission. 

"  Shall  I  give  you  a  number,  mesdemoiselles  ?  " 
said  a  kind  of  servant,  going  towards  the  two 
grisettes. 

"  It  is  hardly  worth  while,"  answered  Stephanie, 
"  we  have  not  time  to  wait ;  tell  your  mistress  that 
we  have  a  message  for  her  from  our  mistress,  the 
Marquise  de  Villaflorosa." 

Stephanie's  decided  tone  imposed  upon  the  ser- 
vant, who  departed  to  give  the  message  and  soon 
returned  towards  the  grisettes,  to  whom  she  signed 
to  follow  her.  She  opened  a  door  and  introduced 
them  into  a  small  room  where  Madame  Rotomago 
was  seated. 


68       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me,  young  girls  ?  "  de- 
manded the  sorceress  with  a  grave  air. 

"  Madame,"  answered  Stephanie, "  Madame  the 
Marquise  de  Villaflorosa,  our  mistress,  gives  a  fete 
this  evening  and  she  wishes  to  have  a  gypsy  to 
amuse  her  company.  Our  mistress  did  not  tell  us 
which  one  she  wanted  to  have,  she  left  us  free  to 
choose  the  fortune-teller  that  suited  us,  to  whom 
she  will  give  five  hundred  francs  for  the  evening." 

Here  Madame  Rotomago  smiled  graciously  on 
the  young  girls.  Stephanie  resumed, — 

"  We  came  to  you,  madame  ;  but  we  will  only 
take  that  fortune-teller  to  our  mistress  who  will 
first  of  all  consult  the  cards  for  both  of  us.  Think, 
madame,  if  that  will  suit  you  or  else  we  will  go  to 
some  one  else." 

"  Why,  yes,  indeed,  children,  that  will  suit  me 
and  very  well,  too,"  exclaimed  Madame  Roto- 
mago ;  "  I'll  read  the  cards  for  you,  and  I'll  tell 
your  fortunes  with  a  full  pack.  I  promise  you 
nothing  shall  be  lacking." 

The  young  girls  were  delighted ;  the  gypsy  made 
them  go  into  her  sanctum.  This  was  a  small  room 
hung  with  draperies  so  that  one  could  not  discover 
a  door  when  once  one  was  inside,  and  it  absolutely 
answered  to  Aline's  description. 

Madame  Rotomago  assumed  her  grand  cos- 
tume, gown,  cap,  spectacles,  nothing  was  missing ; 
and  then  she  spread  out  her  big  pack  and  told  the 
young  girls'  fortunes. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        69 

Aline  felt  frightened  for  a  moment,  she  thought 
at  first  that  Madame  Rotomago  would  see  by  the 
cards  that  she  had  been  deceived  and  would  dis- 
cover what  they  really  were ;  but  she  soon  reas- 
sured herself  as  she  heard  a  host  of  things  utterly 
foreign  to  her  and  which  could  only  happen  to  the 
person  whose  position  they  had  assumed. 

Stephanie  bit  her  lips  so  as  not  to  laugh  in  the 
fortune-teller's  face.  Aline  felt  a  desire  to  do  the 
same,  for  her  faith  had  already  vanished.  In  fact, 
the  great  game  was  ended,  the  horoscope  was 
drawn  ;  their  mistress,  the  marquise,  was  to  marry 
them  and  dower  them  richly.  The  young  girls 
thanked  her  and  left  after  giving  Madame  Roto- 
mago an  address  where  she  was  to  seek  the  Mar- 
quise de  Villaflorosa. 

Once  in  the  streets  the  grisettes  laughed  like 
two  little  madwomen. 

"  Well  now,"  said  Stephanie  to  her  friend,  "  do 
you  still  believe  in  the  skill  of  that  woman,  who 
could  not  divine  the  trick  we  played  on  her  —  and 
shall  you  be  afraid  to  know  love  now  ? " 

"  Oh,  no, indeed  !  "answered  Aline,  "  and  I  have 
but  one  regret  and  that  is  having  been  foolish 
enough  to  follow  Madame  Rotomago's  advice  up 
to  the  age  of  twenty." 

"  Why,  Aline,  when  prognostications  are  made 
one  must  remember  them  when  they  promise  good 
fortune,  but  in  this  case,  on  the  contrary,  it  is 
much  better  to  forget  them." 


THE    HOBGOBLIN 

GROS-THOMAS  owned  a  farm  at  a  distance 
of  rather  more  than  twenty  leagues  from 
Paris.  It  was  a  delightful  place,  where  one  could 
enjoy  all  the  charms  of  a  country  life ;  a  sweet  re- 
treat for  those  who  tired  of  the  noisy  pleasures 
of  the  town  desired  to  substitute  for  them  those 
afforded  by  nature.  Situated  in  the  midst  of  a  beau- 
tiful valley  surrounded  by  fat  pasture  lands,  the 
farm,  large,  fertile  and  well-cultivated,  gave  evi- 
dence that  its  proprietor  was  well-to-do.  The  gar- 
dens afforded  an  abundance  of  fruits  and  vegetables, 
the  yards  were  alive  with  fowls,  the  lofts  stored  with 
reserves  of  hay  and  grain,  against  bad  seasons,  and 
a  variety  of  game  was  not  lacking  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

Everybody  envied  the  farmer,  Gros-Thomas, 
who  was  barely  forty,  unmarried,  rich,  and  free  from 
gout.  The  villagers  began  to  smile  at  him  as  soon 
as  they  saw  him  afar  off,  and  the  men  offered  their 
hands  to  him ;  all  the  mammas  were  very  polite 
indeed. 

But  for  all  that  Gros-Thomas  became  sad  and 
gloomy ;  for  some  time  past  he  had  not  seemed 
happy ;  he  drank  little,  smoked  less,  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  scolded  all  about  him,  almost  always 
without  cause  or  reason. 

But,  first  of  all,  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  there 
lived  at  the  farm  with  Gros-Thomas,  old  Deborah, 

70 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        71 

a  very  credulous,  very  superstitious  woman,  but 
very  much  attached  to  the  farmer,  whom  she 
looked  upon  as  her  own  son  because  she  had 
almost  brought  him  up. 

There  was  also  at  the  farm  one  Bertrand,  a  big, 
very  simple  fellow  who  often  did  his  work  badly, 
though  he  did  it  zealously,  who  had  neither  wit 
nor  judgment  nor  imagination,  but  who  replaced 
those  things  with  a  pair  of  strong,  willing  arms,  for 
he  was  a  robust,  vigorous  fellow,  and  in  the  coun- 
try such  qualities  are  more  highly  valued  than  wit; 
it  is  very  certain  that  to  dig  and  turn  over  the  soil, 
to  plant  it,  to  water  and  to  weed,  imagination  will 
not  suffice.  Then  there  was  Raymond,  a  nice, 
pleasant-mannered  young  peasant,  full  of  mischief 
and  intelligence,  and  whose  face  showed  as  much 
wit  as  that  of  his  comrade  denoted  simplicity. 

Finally  there  was,  and  this  was  the  most  inter- 
esting person  at  the  farm,  a  girl  of  sixteen,  who 
was  pretty,  fresh-looking  and  altogether  charming 
and  graceful.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  her  attrac- 
tions were  natural,  for  she  had  lived  nowhere  but 
in  the  country ;  and  where  could  she  have  taken 
lessons  in  coquetry  ?  You  will  tell  me,  perhaps, 
that  it  is  a  knowledge  which  women  possess  from 
birth,  and  which  develops  of  itself  when  they  ar- 
rive at  the  age  to  desire  to  please.  If  this  is  the 
case,  it  would  be  very  wrong  to  call  that  a  fault 
which  on  the  contrary  is  a  gift  of  nature. 

This  pretty  girl  was  called  Adolphine ;  she  was 


72       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

an  orphan,  and  the  farmer  was  at  the  same  time 
her  master  and  her  guardian ;  he  was  perhaps  some- 
thing else  as  well,  and  what  that  was  we  shall  learn 
as  this  story  proceeds. 

There  were,  besides,  several  domestics,  laborers, 
stablemen,  and  women  servants,  etc. ;  but  we  need 
not  make  their  intimate  acquaintance,  that  would 
take  us  too  far  out  of  our  way. 

It  was  only  for  the  past  year  that  the  pretty 
Adolphine  had  been  living  at  the  farm. 

Before  her  arrival  Gros-Thomas  had  passed  his 
time  in  drinking,  laughing,  singing  and  hunting ; 
his  face,  always  cheerful  and  smiling,  seemed  to 
defy  melancholy,  and  all  the  neighbors  spoke  of 
him  as  a  good  fellow,  the  veritable  life  and  soul  of 
the  company.  What,  then,  had  happened  to  change 
the  farmer's  humor  ?  You  may  imagine  it  with- 
out much  trouble  —  the  feeling  that  produces  so 
many  metamorphoses,  which  disdains  rank,  bridges 
distances ;  which  sometimes  softens  the  most 
haughty  disposition,  and  renders  the  bravest,  the 
most  audacious,  timid ;  which  sometimes  lends  wit 
to  the  foolish,  but  more  often  still  makes  the  wise 
do  foolish  things;  which  made  Apollo  a  shepherd, 
Jupiter  a  bull,  a  swan,  a  shower  of  gold ;  which 
put  Antony  at  the  feet  of  Cleopatra,  Samson  at  the 
knees  of  Delilah,  Hercules  at  the  feet  of  Omphale ; 
a  feeling  which  was  never  known,  they  say,  to  the 
Emperor  Henri  II,  who  made  a  vow  of  chastity 
with  his  wife,  Cunegonde,  and  the  latter,  being  ac- 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK         73 

cused  later  on  of  adultery,  proved  her  innocence  by 
handling  a  red-hot  iron  without  burning  herself. 

I  do  not  know  why  ladies  whose  virtue  is  sus- 
pected do  not  now  employ  the  same  means  to  con- 
found their  calumniators,  inasmuch  as  in  our  days 
they  have  discovered  an  unguent  which  renders  the 
skin  incombustible. 

It  was  this  same  Emperor  Henri  II  who  as  he 
was  dying  said  to  his  wife's  parents, — 

"  You  gave  her  to  me  a  virgin,  I  restore  her  to 
you  a  virgin." 

If  all  the  husbands  could  say  the  same  to  their 
fathers-  and  mothers-in-law,  I  do  not  know  what 
pleasure  there  would  be  in  getting  married.  Cer- 
tainly, that  is  not  the  way  to  fulfil  the  scriptural 
injunction  :  "  Be  fruitful  and  multiply." 

Reassure  yourselves,  young  married  people, 
Henri  II's  are  rare,  which  is  fortunate  for  the 
multiplication  of  the  human  species. 

But  all  this  has  taken  us  far  from  Gros-Thomas, 
which  happened  because  we  were  on  the  subject  of 
love,  a  subject  that  is  inexhaustible,  although  it  is 
treated  of  very  often ;  love  does  not  pass  like 
fashion,  it  belongs  to  all  times,  all  places,  all  coun- 
tries ;  people  make  love  in  all  languages,  at  all 
hours,  at  all  seasons.  Find  me  anything  that  has 
been  made  so  much,  which  may  be  made  so  much, 
and  which  will  be  made  so  much.  Search  as  you 
may  you  cannot  find  it.  Most  assuredly  we  were 
put  into  this  world  to  make  love,  and  those  who 


74       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

do  not  do  so  must  have  very  strong  reasons  for 
their  course. 

Love,  then,  which  penetrates  everywhere,  had 
entered  the  farmer's  heart,  which  up  to  the  present 
had  scoffed  at  this  feeling,  probably  because  he 
did  not  chance  to  have  in  his  garden  that  statue  of 
the  little  god  on  which  are  inscribed  these  lines, — 

The  darling  winged  boy  whom  mortals  must  obey, 
Has  laid  on  all  mankind  this  fiat  of  his  will  : 

"Love  thou  tomorrow,  if  thou  dost  not  love  today; 
And  if  today  thou  lovest,  why  love  tomorrow  still." 

Gros-Thomas  had  felt  quite  otherwise  since  he 
had  seen  Adolphine  ;  the  graces,  the  attractions  of 
the  little  girl  had  had  more  effect  upon  him  than 
all  the  blandishments  of  the  richer  countrywomen 
and  farmers'  wives  of  the  neighborhood,  he  had 
fallen  in  love  with  her  and  for  a  long  time  would 
not  even  confess  it  to  himself,  but  this  is  a  sort  of 
confession  that  is  obligatory  in  the  end.  Gros- 
Thomas  said  to  himself  several  times, — 

"  I  do  wrong,  I  do  very  wrong,  at  forty  years 
of  age,  to  love  a  girl  who  is  but  sixteen  ;  I  am  a 
fatuous  fool !  an  idiot !  I  had  much  better  remain 
a  bachelor.  Marriage  is  an  excellent  thing,  but 
when  one  has  once  tasted  an  excellent  thing  it  is 
wiser  to  refrain  from  trying  it  again,  for  fear  of 
finding  that  it  does  not  fulfil  one's  expectations." 

After  repeating  this  for  several  weeks,  Gros- 
Thomas  perceived  that,  instead  of  decreasing,  his 
love  grew  and  strengthened  as  time  went  on.  He 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        75 

neither  ate,  nor  drank,  nor  slept.  Then  he  adopted 
another  line  of  reasoning,  for  we  can  always  find 
reasons  to  give  ourselves  to  prove  that  we  are  not 
wrong  in  yielding  to  our  passions  or  satisfying  our 
desires. 

Thomas  on  this  occasion  said  to  himself, — 

"  After  all,  as  this  young  girl  suits  me  and  as  I 
really  love  her,  I  should  be  foolish  and  idiotic 
indeed  if  I  did  not  marry  her.  I  am  well-to-do, 
I  am  free  to  do  exactly  as  I  please.  What  does 
it  matter  to  me  what  my  neighbors  may  say  —  or 
my  neighbors'  wives.  I  have  read  in  La  Fontaine 
a  fable  entitled,  '  The  Miller,  his  Son  and  the  Ass,' 
and  the  moral  of  the  fable  was  this,  '  One  cannot 
please  everybody  and  his  father  too.'  Well,  then, 
I  am  going  to  try  to  please  myself  first  of  all." 

Gros-Thomas  reasoned  as  deeply  as  "  Mathieu 
Laensberg"  and  Mademoiselle  Lenormand. 

The  farmer  having  firmly  resolved  to  marry 
Adolphine,  thought  that  it  was  quite  in  order  that 
he  should  pay  court  to  her  and  perfectly  natural 
to  try  to  please  her. 

He  would  probably  have  done  better  had  he 
begun  to  do  so  long  ago  and  not  spent  so  much 
time  in  deciding  whether  he  should  or  should  not 
marry  ;  for  while  Gros-Thomas  was  communing 
with  himself  in  order  to  decide  whether  he  ought 
to  play  the  part  of  a  lover,  some  one  else  had  fallen 
in  love  with  the  seductive  Adolphine,  and  the  lover, 
so  far  from  hesitating,  had  immediately  made 


76       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

known  to  the  pretty  maid  the  sentiment  with 
which  she  had  inspired  him.  It  is  necessary  to  act 
thus  with  women  ;  one  can  never  regain  lost  time  ; 
a  sweetheart's  heart  is  very  like  a  citadel,  it  must 
be  taken  by  assault  and  no  time  must  be  allowed 
it  to  put  itself  on  the  defence.  I  ask  the  ladies  to 
pardon  me  for  daring  to  compare  their  hearts  to  a 
strong  place ;  some  of  them  no  doubt  will  think 
my  comparison  false. 

The  other  person  who  loved  Adolphine  was 
Raymond,  the  farm-hand,  whose  intelligence  and 
agreeable  disposition  everybody  cited. 

He  was  twenty-four  years  old,  had  very  gentle, 
expressive  eyes,  a  very  sympathetic  voice,  and  a 
well-knit  frame.  And  these  things  count  for  more 
in  a  girl's  eyes  than  sacks  of  crowns.  These  dam- 
sels never  give  a  thought  to  the  savings  bank. 

There  are  some  moments  in  life  when  money 
is  nothing  in  our  eyes  ;  and  one  of  these  is  when 
we  are  really  in  love.  This  moment  quickly  passes 
and,  alas  !  it  rarely  returns.  Adolphine  had  learned 
the  language  of  Raymond's  eyes,  and  hers  had 
apprised  the  young  man  that  his  admiration  was 
not  displeasing  to  her,  and  as  people  love  to  be 
with  those  who  please  them,  Adolphine  and  Ray- 
mond found  themselves  together  at  each  moment 
of  the  day ;  the  young  bachelor  worked  beside  the 
girl,  or  helped  her  in  what  she  was  doing.  When 
one  saw  Adolphine  one  might  be  pretty  sure  that 
Raymond  was  not  far  off.  It  was  at  this  time  that 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        77 

farmer  Gros-Thomas  would  have  liked  to  declare 
his  love  for  Adolphine,  and  the  continual  presence 
of  the  young  farm-hand  was  not  long  in  awaken- 
ing his  jealousy  ;  he  watched,  he  surprised  some 
loving  glances  and  tender  words  ;  he  saw  quite 
enough  to  understand  that  the  good  girl  would  not 
pay  much  attention  to  him  if  Raymond  were  there. 

But  how  could  he  send  away  an  industrious, 
faithful,  intelligent  fellow  with  whom  he  had  no 
cause  for  complaint  ?  Gros-Thomas  did  not  wish 
to  let  it  be  seen  that  he  was  jealous ;  his  only  re- 
course was  to  disgust  Raymond  with  his  service 
at  the  farm ;  he  gave  him,  therefore,  the  roughest 
work  and  charged  him  with  the  most  difficult 
duties.  Raymond  would  do  this  work  without 
grumbling,  for  one  look  from  Adolphine  would 
make  him  forget  his  trouble  and  fatigue. 

Gros-Thomas,  being  unsuccessful  in  his  at- 
tempts, next  took  it  into  his  head  to  put  poor  Ray- 
mond on  a  severe  regimen.  The  habits  of  the 
farm  were  suddenly  changed  ;  the  hours  for  meals 
were  always  those  when  poor  Raymond  was  absent, 
and  when  he  came  in  he  had  to  content  himself 
with  what  his  master  had  left  for  him ;  a  scanty 
supply  of  eatables  and  cold  water  replaced  beef 
and  cabbage  soup.  Poor  Raymond  sighed,  but 
he  dared  not  complain  ;  but  the  gentle  Adolphine 
did  not  want  her  sweetheart  to  grow  thin,  and  she 
began  to  think  to  herself  by  what  means  she  could 
repair  the  farmer's  injustice. 


78       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

Presently  a  strange  rumor  was  circulated  at  the 
farm  to  the  effect  that  supernatural  events  were 
taking  place,  that  hobgoblins,  ghosts,  held  nightly 
meetings  as  soon  as  the  clock  in  the  neighboring 
village  had  sounded  the  hour  of  midnight.  Coun- 
try people  are  superstitious,  and  terror  soon  took 
hold  of  them ;  they  did  not  know  of  what  they 
were  afraid,  but  they  began  to  tremble  as  soon  as  it 
grew  dusk. 

Gros-Thomas  called  Deborah,  Bertrand,  Ray- 
mond, and  Adolphine  before  him  ;  he  questioned 
his  servants. 

"  What  is  the  reason  of  this  fear  which  has  got 
such  a  hold  on  you?"  said  the  farmer;  "what  new 
thing  is  going  on  in  my  house  ?  of  what  are  you 
frightened  ? " 

"  Of  a  hobgoblin,"  said  old  Deborah,  "  which 
haunts  the  farm  every  night." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ? " 

"  I  have  seen  him,"  said  Bertrand  ;  "  it's  a  big 
ghost,  all  in  white;  he's  always  prowling  round 
the  cellar." 

"  Why  didn't  you  catch  hold  of  him  ?  arrest 
him?" 

"Me  catch  hold  of  a  ghost?  why,  the  idea  !  he 
would  have  dragged  me  down  to  the  bottomless 
pit  with  him." 

"  And  you,  Raymond  ?  "  said  Gros-Thomas, 
turning  towards  the  young  farm-hand,  "  have  you 
seen  this  hobgoblin  ?  " 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        79 

"  Yes,  master,"  answered  Raymond  quickly,  "  I 
have  seen  him  several  times,  he  is  all  red  and  black; 
I  tried  to  follow  him,  but  he  turned  round  and  made 
such  horrible  grimaces  at  me  that  he  deprived  me 
of  the  power  to  walk." 

Gros-Thomas  then  addressed  Adolphine,  and 
asked  her  if  she  had  also  seen  the  hobgoblin. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  the  young  girl ;  "  one 
night  when  I  could  not  sleep,  hearing  a  noise  in 
the  passage  near  my  room,  out  of  curiosity  I  got 
up  to  go  and  see  what  it  was,  and  I  was  well  pun- 
ished for  my  daring,  and  vowed  I  would  never  do 
the  like  again." 

"What  did  you  see,  then?"  asked  old  Deborah 
pressing  close  up  to  Bertrand. 

"  Something  frightful !  a  big  spectre ;  he  was  so 
tall  that  his  head  went  through  the  ceiling;  he  had 
great  flaming  eyes,  a  nose  hooked  like  a  sickle,  a 
mouth  in  which  there  were  at  least  a  hundred  teeth ; 
then  he  had  bear's  paws,  a  monkey's  arm,  and  a 
fox's  tail." 

The  farmer  did  not  think  fit  to  push  his  inter- 
rogations further,  for  the  terror  of  each  one  as  he 
told  the  story  made  the  snowball  bigger.  Pretend- 
ing therefore  to  a  belief  in  the  hobgoblin,  Gros- 
Thomas  said  he  should  go  to  bed  as  early  as  pos- 
sible, and  shut  himself  up  in  his  room,  giving  his 
servants  permission  to  do  the  same. 

So  the  hobgoblin  had  full  liberty  to  wander  about 
the  farmhouse ;  as  soon  as  night  fell,  so  far  from 


8o       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

disputing  his  passage,  they  hastened  to  make  way 
for  him,  leaving  him  free  to  go  where  he  would 
from  the  cellar  to  the  garret. 

People  in  general  have  a  great  respect  for  ghosts 
and  hobgoblins ;  instead  of  trying  to  oppose  them 
people  fly  and  leave  them  masters  of  the  battle- 
field; it  is  astonishing  that  hobgoblins  do  not 
more  greatly  increase ;  but,  look  you,  everything  is 
strange  in  this  world  and  even  in  the  other ;  when 
there  was  a  court  of  law  established  to  prosecute 
sorcerers,  magicians,  and  ghosts,  when  there  was 
a  Chambre  Ardente  charged  with  the  duty  of  run- 
ning them  down,  when  they  had  to  do  penance 
with  naked  feet  and  a  rope  round  their  necks  — 
in  fact,  when  they  were  burned  alive,  there  was 
any  quantity  of  sorcerers ;  they  were  found  every- 
where—  in  country  and  town,  among  shepherds, 
great  noblemen  and  people  of  fashion.  Now  that 
they  are  left  in  peace  one  sees  no  more  of  them. 

Everything  passes ;  it  is  all  a  matter  of  fashion 
and  custom.  ./Eneas  went  to  consult  the  sybil  of 
Cumae ;  King  Saul  interrogated  the  Witch  of 
Endor;  under  Louis  XIV  ladies  of  quality  con- 
sulted the  Voisin;  it  was  not  so  very  long  ago  that 
every  one  was  running  to  Mademoiselle  Lenor- 
mand ;  now  people  only  go  to  theatres,  balls,  and 
concerts,  nobody  wants  to  amuse  himself  now  by 
being  frightened.  Other  times,  other  manners. 

But  we  must  return  to  the  hobgoblin  of  the 
farm ;  it  was  principally  in  the  vicinity  of  the 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK         81 

cellar  that  the  ghost  was  pleased  to  wander.  This 
cellar  also  served  as  a  larder,  and  in  it  were  de- 
posited the  provisions  in  course  of  consumption, 
the  game,  the  vegetables,  the  fruits,  and  everything 
that  was  to  be  served  on  the  master's  table. 

Gros-Thomas  had  noted  the  preference  which 
the  hobgoblin  accorded  his  cellar  and  he  thought 
that,  for  a  personage  of  the  other  world,  he  con- 
ducted himself  very  like  an  ordinary  thief. 

Having  left  the  hobgoblin  in  full  confidence 
that  he  need  not  fear  surprise  during  that  night, 
Gros-Thomas,  who  had  not  gone  to  bed,  left  his 
room,  first  arming  himself  with  his  sabre  and 
carrying  a  dark  lantern. 

The  farmer  was  careful  to  make  no  sound  as  he 
walked.  He  first  went  to  old  Deborah  and  made 
her  get  up,  saying  to  her, — 

"Follow  me ! " 

"  Why,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  inquired 
the  good  woman,  hurriedly  wrapping  her  dressing- 
jacket  around  her. 

"You  shall  see,  Deborah,  come  make  haste  — 
we  are  going  to  surprise  the  hobgoblin." 

"  The  hobgoblin  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  woman, 
"  The  hobgoblin,  Jesus-Maria  !  Why,  I  am  not 
at  all  anxious  to  surprise  even  the  smallest  demon, 
I  am  too  feeble  to  struggle  with  him,  he  would 
very  quickly  vanquish  me.  Go  without  me,  my 
dear  master;  I  will  pray  for  you,  that  is  all  I  can  do." 

As  his  only  answer  Gros-Thomas  took  Deborah 

Vol.  XIX 


82       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

by  the  arm  and  rather  roughly  made  her  get  out 
of  bed.  The  old  woman  exclaimed  loudly  because 
she  only  had  on  her  chemise  and  short  bedgown ; 
but  her  master  pushed  her  before  him,  telling  her 
that  the  hobgoblin  did  not  come  to  the  farm  after 
an  old  woman  and  that  she  would  have  had  noth- 
ing to  fear  even  if  she  had  presented  herself  in  the 
light  and  airy  costume  of  a  savage,  and  that  on  the 
contrary  it  might  have  been  an  excellent  means  of 
making  the  demon  take  his  departure. 

And  Gros-Thomas,  who  for  a  country  man  had 
a  surprisingly  perfect  acquaintance  with  his  La 
Fontaine,  had  a  great  desire  to  quote  the  history 
of  Papefiguere's  devil  for  Deborah's  edification. 
But  he  did  not,  for  the  old  woman  at  last  being 
ready  to  follow  him,  he  went  with  her  to  Ber- 
trand's  room. 

There  the  farmer  found  more  difficulties  to 
overcome. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  get  up  for  ?  "  said 
Bertrand. 

"  To  come  with  me  and  surprise  this  confounded 
hobgoblin  who's  frightened  everybody  at  the  farm." 

"  Wait  till  daylight,  master ;  I  don't  feel  like 
surprising  anything  at  night." 

"  Come,  Bertrand,  get  a  weapon  and  follow  us." 

"  A  weapon  ?     Do  you  want  me  to  fight  too?" 

"  It's  a  precautionary  measure  ;  I  have  an  idea 
that  our  hobgoblin  is  made  of  flesh  and  bones  like 
common  mortals." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK         83 

"  Let  him  be  what  he  will,  I  don't  want  to  fight 
at  night  —  there's  another  day  coming.  In  broad 
daylight,  when  the  sun  is  shining,  one  can  at  least 
see  what  one  is  aiming  at." 

"  Bertrand,  get  up ;  if  you  don't  I  shall  flog  you," 
said  the  farmer. 

Saying  these  words  Gros-Thomas  took  his  ser- 
vant by  the  ear.  Then  Bertrand  decided  to  get 
up,  and  went  to  look  for  a  big  knife,  a  pruning 
knife,  a  hammer,  a  spit,  and  an  old  gun,  which  he 
would  have  found  it  hard  to  discharge,  seeing  that 
for  a  long  time  past  it  had  had  no  hammer,  even 
had  he  had  anything  to  load  it  with. 

The  farmer  awakened  several  more  of  the  ser- 
vants; he  ordered  them  all  to  follow  him,  walk- 
ing cautiously  so  as  to  make  no  noise,  for  Gros- 
Thomas  was  extremely  desirous  of  surprising  the 
redoubtable  hobgoblin. 

The  procession  set  out.  The  farmer  led  his 
timorous  troops  towards  the  cellar,  the  aforesaid 
troops  trembling  so  that  their  teeth  chattered  like 
castanets,  and  sometimes  they  could  with  difficulty 
be  persuaded  to  go  any  further. 

Suddenly  Bertrand  uttered  a  sort  of  howl  and 
everybody  stopped. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  demanded  the 
farmer. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  said  Bertrand,  "but 
all  of  a  sudden  I  certainly  felt  something  pass  be- 
tween my  legs." 


84       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"And  me  too!" 

"And  me  too,"  said  all  the  servants. 

"  You  are  all  cowards,"  said  Gros-Thomas, 
"  every  one  of  you  ;  don't  imagine  that  the  hob- 
goblin we  are  going  to  surprise  could  pass  between 
your  legs." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Demons,  spirits,  can  make  themselves  as  small 
as  they  wish." 

"  There  are  some  of  them  who  can  even  enter 
the  body." 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,  idiot!  that  any  of  them 
will  enter  yours." 

At  this  moment  a  great  black  cat  crossed  the 
passage  again,  passing  through  the  procession. 

"  Why,  that's  Mimi,"  said  Bertrand. 

"  And  that  was  what  frightened  you,  fools  that 
you  are.  Come,  let's  get  on  and  don't  breathe 
a  word." 

They  started  off  together.  As  they  approached 
the  cellar  they  saw  a  faint  light  and  heard  a  noise 
which  bore  a  distinct  resemblance  to  the  sound  of 
kisses  given  and  received. 

All  the  servants  began  to  laugh. 

Gros-Thomas  turned  as  red  as  a  cherry,  but  he 
commanded  them  to  remain  silent.  He  wanted 
to  surprise  his  people. 

They  were  beside  the  cellar  when  Bertrand 
sneezed.  Instantly  the  light  they  had  seen  from 
afar  was  completely  extinguished. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        85 

The  farmer,  furious  at  his  servant's  awkwardness, 
strode  ahead  and,  holding  the  lantern  above  his 
head,  he  entered  the  cellar.  There  he  saw  a  table 
which  held  the  remains  of  a  copious  repast ;  and  at 
length  he  saw  something  white  which  kept  close 
in  a  corner  near  a  door. 

He  walked  bravely  towards  the  something;  it 
was  a  young  girl,  it  was  that  nice  little  Adolphine. 

The  little  peasant  was  alarmed,  she  did  not  know 
what  to  say  when  her  master  asked  her  what  she 
was  doing  there;  and  Gros-Thomas  had  some 
trouble  in  making  her  come  forth  from  her  hiding 
place.  He  succeeded  in  doing  so,  however,  and 
then  he  groped  his  way  into  a  small  cellar  which 
the  pretty  maid-servant  seemed  to  want  to  prevent 
him  from  entering ;  then  he  shouted, — 

"  I've  got  my  hobgoblin  !  " 

At  these  words  all  the  servants  trembled  vio- 
lently and  were  on  the  point  of  making  off,  but 
their  terror  ceased  when  they  saw  their  master  lug 
the  ghost  forth  by  the  ear.  When  a  hobgoblin 
allows  himself  to  be  treated  thus  he  has  ceased  to 
be  dangerous. 

But  this  was  not  a  hobgoblin,  or  he  would  not 
have  allowed  them  to  arrest  him. 

Can  you  understand  sorcerers  and  magicians 
who  allow  themselves  to  be  quietly  led  to  be  butch- 
ered and  burned  on  the  Place  de  Greve  ?  It  is 
hardly  worth  while  to  be  in  league  with  the  devil, 
if  one  has  to  submit  to  be  treated  like  a  criminal. 


86       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

Our  peasants,  who  had  none  of  the  learning  of 
the  judges  presiding  over  the  Chambre  Ardente, 
understood  this  immediately.  In  administering 
justice  the  only  thing  necessary  is  common  sense. 

Gros-Thomas  had  torn  off  the  sheet  and  the  cap 
which  hid  the  ghost's  features  and  they  recognized 
Raymond,  who  fell  at  the  farmer's  knees,  while 
Adolphine  fell  on  hers  beside  him. 

"  It's  Raymond !  "  cried  all  the  farm  people. 

"And  hang  it !"  said  Gros-Thomas,  "for  a  long 
time  past  I  have  suspected  it  and  I  allowed  him  to 
feel  safe  for  some  days  in  order  that  later  on  I 
might  more  easily  surprise  him.  Ah,  Mademoi- 
selle Adolphine,  you  come  and  sup  with  the  hob- 
goblin, do  you  ? " 

"  Mercy  on  us,  master,"  said  the  young  girl, 
"  I  have  given  him  something  to  eat  at  night  since 
you  put  him  on  an  allowance  by  day." 

Gros-Thomas  understood  the  lesson ;  he 
thought  it  would  be  wrong  of  him  to  get  vexed ; 
besides  he  remembered  a  certain  noise  which  he 
had  heard  by  which  he  presumed  that  the  two  lovers 
had  not  met  merely  to  sup. 

He  gave  Adolphine  in  marriage  to  Raymond, 
which  was  much  better  for  him  than  to  form  a 
foolish  union  which  would  not  have  rendered  him 
happy. 

And  in  ceasing  to  play  the  part  of  a  lover  he 
soon  regained  his  appetite,  his  cheerfulness,  his 
health,  his  good  temper. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       87 

By  all  this  I  do  not  intend  to  convey  the  im- 
pression that  love  is  a  passion  which  causes  noth- 
ing but  harm ;  no,  love  is  really  an  excellent 
thing  —  when  it  is  reciprocated. 


A  DAY  WITH  AN  AUTHOR 

THERE  are  many  people  who  imagine  that  the 
path  of  an  author  is  strewn  with  roses,  laurels, 
and  pleasures,  but  before  acquiring  the  reputation 
to  which  those  aspire  who  have  a  real  vocation,  it 
is  nothing  but  drawbacks,  weariness,  trouble,  work 
and  lost  pains  ;  nothing  but  injustice  to  bear,  petty 
intrigues  to  frustrate,  and  critics  to  disdain.  Then 
when  he  has  reached  an  honorable  position,  when 
success  has  recompensed  his  toil,  when  the  applause 
of  the  public  indemnifies  him  for  the  gross  con- 
demnation of  envious  people,  do  not  fancy  that  his 
days  will  roll  by  in  sweet  quietude,  and  that,  quite 
at  his  ease  in  the  seclusion  of  his  study,  he  may 
give  himself  up  to  thought,  to  that  work  which 
furnishes  the  charm  of  his  existence.  Not  at  all ; 
he  will  not  be  left  in  peace  to  follow  the  career 
upon  which  he  has  entered.  If  a  thousand  disap- 
pointments await  those  who  are  beginning  to  make 
their  reputations,  numberless  vexatious,  tiresome, 
importunate,  intriguing,  foolish  and  simple  people 
attach  themselves  to  those  whose  success  is  well- 


88       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

established.  The  man  who  has  a  little  renown 
hears  them  continually  buzzing  around  him  as 
wasps  buzz  around  the  flowers  whose  sweetness 
they  covet. 

To  an  author  who  has  had  any  success,  people 
who  are  entirely  unknown  to  him  come  every  day 
to  propose  themselves  as  collaborators.  These  peo- 
ple sometimes  are  guilty  of  dreadful  mispronunci- 
ations in  explaining  their  object  or  they  write  their 
articles  with  M.  Marie's  orthography.  They  de- 
part in  a  very  bad  temper  because  he  refuses  to 
work  with  them,  and  go  and  say  everywhere  that 
he  has  stolen  their  ideas. 

Then  come  the  album  nuisances.  A  man  who 
has  some  reputation  is  always  sure  on  going  home 
to  find  that  some  albums  have  been  left  for  him 
with  his  porter. 

The  album  is  the  bete  noire  of  the  author  and 
of  all  artists  of  renown.  The  album  pursues  him 
incessantly  in  town  and  country,  into  his  studio  or 
his  library  ;  people  whom  he  has  never  seen,  whom 
he  does  not  even  know  by  name,  are  not  afraid  to 
send  him  their  albums  with  a  note  on  amber- 
scented  paper,  in  which  they  exalt  him  above  the 
greatest  men  of  the  past,  and  even  of  the  future, 
in  order  to  obtain  from  him  a  few  lines  of  writing 
or  a  drawing  or  a  verse  or  a  water-color. 

If  he  doesn't  satisfy  quickly  enough  the  impa- 
tience of  these  people  they  will  write  to  him  every 
day  begging  him  to  be  sure  and  remember  their 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK         89 

albums,  which  they  ask  him  to  send  back,  for  they 
cannot  even  take  the  trouble  to  come  and  get 
them. 

At  last,  in  order  to  put  an  end  to  the  diurnal 
missives,  he  yields  to  their  importunity  ;  he  writes 
something  in  the  album,  then  sends  it  back  by  a 
messenger. 

They  send  him  a  thousand  thanks  on  receiving 
the  album,  but  do  not  pay  the  messenger ;  and 
that  is  what  our  author  gets  for  his  loss  of  time 
and  his  politeness  to  some  one  with  whom  he  is 
totally  unacquainted. 

I  know  a  very  witty  author  who  adopted  the  wise 
course  of  writing  the  same  thing  in  all  the  albums 
sent  to  him. 

Let  us  penetrate  for  a  moment  into  the  sanctum 
of  one  of  our  renowned  authors.  We  will  go  pref- 
erentially into  that  of  a  married  man  of  letters  ;  for 
if  marriage  is  a  charming  bond,  the  annoyances  of 
a  domestic  life  do  not  always  accord  with  the  court 
he  should  pay  to  the  muses,  and  the  voice  of  a 
howling  child,  or  of  a  wife  calling,  very  quickly 
causes  the  favorite  of  Apollo  to  descend  from  the 
celestial  regions  and  recalls  him  to  that  inhabited 
only  by  simple  mortals. 

Monsieur  G is  a  man  of  ability  ;  he  has  a 

pretty  wife  and  two  children  whom  he  dearly  loves. 
Let  us  follow  him  to  his  study,  which  he  enters  at 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

MONSIEUR  G.  (seating  himself  at  his  desk). — 


90       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

Now  to  work !  I  feel  in  the  mood  for  it  today. 
(He  looks  at  a  clock.)  Eleven  o'clock  already ; 
we  breakfasted  too  late.  I've  told  my  wife  twenty 
times  that  I  wanted  to  be  in  my  study  by  ten 
o'clock ;  but  women  can  never  understand  that 
when  one  has  one's  head  full  of  asubject,  when  one's 
imagination  is  on  the  wing,  the  meal  time  must  be 
made  earlier  or  later  to  accord  with  his  convenience. 
When  mine  has  said,  "  My  dear,  the  dinner  is 
ready  "  ;  or,  "  The  breakfast  is  waiting,"  it  is  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  me  to  go  at  once  or  my  study 
is  besieged,  and  then  there  is  ill-humor  and  grum- 
blings—  and  I,  who  love  peace,  find  it  easier  to 
yield  than  to  contest  the  matter.  (He  takes  up  a 
manuscript  which  he  perceives  on  his  desk.)  What 
have  we  here  ?  I  don't  know  this  writing  ;  it  must 
be  some  manuscript  that  some  one  brought  me  and 
that  my  wife  received  during  my  absence.  I  have 
said  that  I  would  not  receive  any.  It  is  surprising 
how  little  attention  they  pay  to  what  I  say  here. 
(Turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  manuscript.)  What 
writing!  These  authors  should  at  least  learn  to 
write  legibly.  What  kind  of  a  work  is  this  ?  (He 
reads  the  title),  "The  Grand  Turk  in  Love,  or, 
Poison,  Dagger  and  Bowstring."  That's  very 
pretty,  very  promising.  "A  drama  in  five  acts  with 
two  prologues."  That  must  be  very  curious.  (He 
puts  the  manuscript  back  in  a  corner  of  his  desk.) 
How  pleasant  it  will  be  to  spend  two  or  three  hours 
in  deciphering  that.  If  I  were  to  peruse  all  the 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        91 

manuscripts  sent  me,  I  should,  instead  of  working 
for  myself,  spend  all  my  time  in  looking  over  the 
works  of  others.  I  shall  seriously  scold  my  wife 
for  having  taken  in  this  manuscript.  Let's  look  at 
the  little  poem  on  "Domestic  Happiness."  Well! 
where  is  my  manuscript  ?  There  !  They've  been 
at  my  desk  and  upset  my  papers,  the  same  thing 
every  day.  It  is  insupportable.  (He  calls.)  Con- 
stance !  Constance ! 

MADAME  G.  (coming  in  her  dressing-jacket  and 
carrying  a  pretty  little  cap  in  her  hand). — What 
do  you  want,  my  dear  ? 

MONSIEUR  G. — You  have  disturbed  the  papers 
in  my  desk ! 

MADAME  G. —  Me!  What  an  idea!  what 
should  I  disturb  your  papers  for?  what  do  you 
suppose  I  wanted  at  your  desk  ? 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Then  it  was  the  maid.  She 
has  disturbed  my  pens,  my  penknives.  Some  day 
she'll  take  an  important  paper  —  a  chapter,  a 
scene,  to  singe  a  fowl  or  to  use  for  curl-papers. 
(Shouting.)  Once  for  all,  madame,  I  positively 
will  have  nothing  touched  on  my  desk ! 

MADAME  G. —  Good  gracious  me  !  nobody 
shall  touch  anythinn:;  but  it  is  hardly  worth  while 
to  shout  like  that.  But  how  do  you  like  this  cap  ? 

MONSIEUR  G.  (fumbling  in  his  boxes). — Where 
the  devil  is  my  poem  ?  I  left  it  there  yesterday. 

MADAME  G.  (putting  the  cap  on).  —  Do  you 
think  it  becoming  ? 


92       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

MONSIEUR  G. —  They  have  taken  all  my  seal- 
ing wafers.  There's  not  one  left. 

MADAME  G. —  Oh,  as  for  your  sealing  wafers, 
it  is  your  daughter  who  takes  them  to  play  with. 
You  must  scold  her  well.  The  color  of  the  ribbon 
is  pretty,  is  it  not  ? 

MONSIEUR  G. —  If  it  was  my  daughter  —  then 
it  is  different  —  so  long  as  she  doesn't  eat  them, 
for  they  would  make  her  ill.  Ah,  here  is  my  poem 
—  that's  lucky ! 

MADAME  G. —  You  see  your  poem  wasn't  lost, 
after  all.  It  really  did  not  require  all  that  shout- 
ing. The  color  of  the  ribbon  is  pretty,  is  it  not  ? 

MONSIEUR  G.  (without  looking  at  his  wife). — 
Yes,  yes,  it  is  pretty,  charming,  delightful  —  you 
look  very  well  in  it.  But  leave  me  to  work  ;  go 
my  dear,  go,  I  beg  of  you. 

MADAME  G. —  Gracious!  he  hasn't  even  looked 
at  me.  By  the  way,  some  one  has  sent  us  a  very 
fine  salmon. 

MONSIEUR  G.  (impatiently). — Well,  that's  good. 
What  does  it  matter  to  me  that  they've  sent  a  sal- 
mon ?  Let  me  get  to  work,  I  tell  you. 

MADAME  G. —  How  gallant  are  these  authors  ! 
and  there  are  some  women  who  say  to  me,  "  Oh, 
you  must  be  happy  to  be  the  wife  of  a  clever  man." 
Oh,  did  you  see  the  manuscript  that  was  brought 
yesterday  ?  I  put  it  there  ! 

MONSIEUR  G. —  You  did  very  wrong  to  take 
it  in.  Once  for  all,  I  don't  wish  to  read  any  more 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        93 

of  the  manuscripts  of  these  people  who  wake  up 
some  fine  morning  and  think  they  will  write  a 
drama  or  a  novel.  They  come  to  one  for  advice, 
counsel ;  and  when  one  tells  them  frankly  what 
one  thinks  of  their  work,  they  get  angry.  Who 
brought  it  ? 

MADAME  G. — A  young  man,  very  fair,  such 
a  nice,  polite  fellow,  and  he  begged  me  so  hard  to 
take  his  manuscript. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  That's  just  like  all  the  women. 
Because  he  was  a  fair,  handsome  young  fellow  you 
couldn't  refuse  him. 

MADAME  G. —  Really,  monsieur,  I  should  ad- 
vise you  not  to  say  too  much  about  that,  for  when 
women  come  here  under  the  pretext  of  showing  you 
manuscripts  you  know  very  well  that  if  they  are 
young  and  pretty  you  ask  them  into  your  study 
and  carefully  close  the  door. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Because  a  lady  is  often  timid 
and  doesn't  like  to  speak  before  witnesses.  But 
enough  of  this  !  Constance,  will  you  do  me  a  great 
favor  ? 

MADAME  G. —  Certainly,  my  dear.  What  is  it  ? 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Take  yourself  off. 

MADAME  G.  —  I  was  sure  that  was  what  you 
were  going  to  say.  Who  would  be  an  author's 
wife  !  He  hasn't  even  looked  at  my  cap! 

(Madame  G leaves  her  husband's  study. 

He  takes  his  poem,  rereads  it,  appears  to  be  medi- 
tating, then  takes  up  his  pen,  saying), — 


94       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"It  seems  to  me  this  passage  goes  very  well : 

One's  children  prove  the  charm  of  married  life, 
A  happy  household,  void  of  troublous  strife; 
A  charming  wife,  whose  minist'ring  care  doth  tell, 
Each  day,  each  hour,  she  loves  her  husband  well. 

That's  very  good  —  it's  flowing  —  let  us  finish  the 
chapter.  I  am  drawing  the  portrait  of  the  wife. 
(He  rubs  his  forehead.)  Ah,  good,  here  I  am. 
(He  declaims.)  '  A  woman  is  a  deity ' — Yes,  that 
isn't  bad  at  all.  f  A  woman  is  a  deity  '  (Somebody 
softly  scratches  the  study  door.)  f  Is  a  deity —  a  — 
a*  (Some  one  scratches  louder.)  But  who  the  devil's 
that  at  the  door  ?  I  can't  be  quiet  for  a  moment 
here !  (The  noise  stops.)  It  seems  to  me  to  be 
done  on  purpose ;  just  as  soon  as  I  come  in  here 
to  work,  it  is  who  can  make  the  most  noise  and 
bother  me  most.  Let's  see,  I  had  my  verse  — 
ah,  this  is  it !  *  A  woman  is  a  deity  who  watches  ' ' 
—  (Some  one  scratches  much  louder,  and  kicks  the 
door  several  times.) 

MONSIEUR  G.  (angrily). — Who's  there?  What 
do  you  want  ?  Will  you  stop  that  noise  ?  (He 
goes  to  the  study  door  and  opens  it.  A  little  girl 
of  six  is  pressed  tightly  against  it,  she  holds  a  cup 
and  ball  in  her  hand.) 

THE  LITTLE  GIRL. —  It  is  me,  papa ;  I  was 
knocking  very  softly  because  mamma  had  forbid- 
den me  to  disturb  you,  and  I'm  not  big  enough 
to  open  the  door. 

MONSIEUR  G.  (in  a  big  voice  which  gradually 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        95 

softens). — What,  mademoiselle,  is  it  you  ?  How 
dare  you  come  to  disturb  me  ?  It  is  insupportable, 
that  is  (drawing  her  on  his  knee).  What  is  it  you 
want  ?  Let  us  see  —  why,  have  you  been  crying  ? 
I  can't  have  anyone  make  you  cry. 

THE  LITTLE  GIRL  (very  quickly  and  without 
taking  breath). —  Papa,  it  was  brother,  he's  always 
doing  something  horrid  to  me,  he  slaps  me,  and 
he  broke  my  cup  and  ball,  my  pretty  little  cup  and 
ball,  because  I  wouldn't  let  him  take  it. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Oh,  Leon  does  such  naughty 
things,  does  he !  Very  well,  I  shall  have  something 
to  say  to  him. 

THE  LITTLE  GIRL.  —  Yes,  I  told  him  I  would 
tell  you ;  he  said  he  didn't  care,  and  he  put  out 
his  tongue  at  me. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  The  little  rascal!  Very  well, 
I'll  talk  to  him.  Come,  run  along,  sweetheart. 

THE  LITTLE  GIRL. —  Mend  my  cup  and  ball. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Oh,  I  haven't  time  —  what  the 
devil !  (Taking  the  cup  and  ball.)  It  is  only  the 
string  that  is  broken  (he  puts  a  new  string  in  the 
cup  and  ball).  Wait,  I'll  make  it  shorter,  so  it  will 
be  handier  to  play  with.  And  be  sure  not  to  go 
too  fast,  you  might  hurt  yourself  with  the  ball. 
Look,  here  is  the  way  to  do  it.  (He  gives  a  lesson 
in  cup  and  ball.) 

THE  LITTLE  GIRL. —  Oh,  I  know  how  to  do  it, 
too.  Thank  you,  dear  papa.  (She  takes  the  cup 
and  ball.) 


96       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

MONSIEUR  G.  (after  kissing  his  daughter). — 
I  must  get  at  it  once  more  and  I  hope  I  shan't  be 
disturbed  again  (he  shuts  the  study  door)  or  I 
shall  be  seriously  angry.  He  places  himself  at 
his  desk  and  begins  to  scratch  his  forehead  again.) 
Let's  see  —  where  was  I  ? 

.   .   .  whose  minist'ring  care  doth  tell 
Each  day,  each  hour,  she  loves  her  husband  well. 

That's  good  !  very  good  !  I  keep  to  my  metre.  Ah  ! 

Who  watches  tenderly  o'er  — 

(Some  one  opens  the  door  violently,  a  little  boy  of 
eight  runs  into  the  study,  jumping  and  laughing.) 

THE  LITTLE  BOY. —  I  can  open  the  door,  I  can  ! 
I  am  big  now.  I'm  taller  than  my  sister,  she  only 
comes  up  to  my  nose. 

MONSIEUR  G.  (very  angrily). — Well,  monsieur, 
how  dare  you  come  into  my  study  like  this  ?  You 
are  a  bold  little  rascal  and  I've  told  you  never  to 
disturb  me.  Go  away,  and  if  I  hear  of  your  tak- 
ing your  sister's  cup  and  ball  and  putting  out  your 
tongue  at  her,  I  shall  punish  you.  Come,  run  off 
quickly,  you  bad  boy.  Go  away  with  your  bois- 
terousness. 

(The  little  boy,  whose  face  lengthens  while  his 
father  is  speaking,  hangs  his  head  and  is  going  sadly 
out,  without  daring  to  breathe  a  word.  His  father 
calls  him  back.) 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Tell  me  what  you  came  here 
for.  You  came  for  something,  no  doubt. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        97 

THE  LITTLE  BOY  (with  a  full  heart). — Yes,  but 
you  are  angry  with  me.  I'm  going  —  I  didn't 
mean  to  make  you  angry. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Come  here,  come  along.  (He 
takes  him  by  the  hand.)  Why  did  you  take  your 
sister's  cup  and  ball  ?  You  made  her  cry.  You 
are  the  biggest  and  you  ought  to  be  more  sensible. 

THE  LITTLE  BOY  (trying  to  cry). —  My  sister 
didn't  tell  you  that  she  had  taken  my  little  theatre 
and  spoiled  the  scenery.  The  beautiful  forest  is  full 
of  comfits.  I  wanted  to  make  plays  like  you.  Boo- 
hoo-hoo  !  And  I  can't  now  —  and  my  poor 
marionettes  haven't  any  legs. 

MONSIEUR  G.  (kissing  his  son)  —  Poor  boy ! 
your  forest  is  full  of  comfits.  Don't  cry  and  I  will 
buy  you  another.  Wait,  here  is  a  nice  piece  of 
apple  sugar. 

THE  LITTLE  BOY. —  Thank  you,  papa.  Draw 
me  a  punch  with  a  pen,  then  I'll  cut  it  out. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  I  haven't  time  now  —  some 
other  day. 

THE  LITTLE  BOY. —  Oh,  papa,  a  little  punch, 
just  a  little  one. 

MONSIEUR  G.  (taking  a  pen  and  sheet  of  paper). 
—  You  are  as  persevering  as  your  mother.  Come, 
here's  your  punch;  now  run  off  at  once,  and  don't 
come  again  or  I  shall  pull  your  ears. 

THE  LITTLE  BOY  (taking  paper). —  Oh,  thank 
you,  dear  papa.  (He  goes  out  skipping,  and  shuts 
the  door  after  him.) 

Vol.  XIX 


98       SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Poor  little  fellow !  he  wants  to 
make  plays  like  me.  He's  a  nice  boy,  is  that. 
(Resuming  his  pen.)  We  must  hope  that  they'll 
leave  me  in  peace  now. 

A  woman  is  an  angel  who  watches  with  tenderness. 

Why  no,  that  won't  do,  the  rhyme  is  false.  A 
woman  is  not  an  angel  —  I  had  put  something 
else.  But  when  one  is  disturbed  at  every  moment 
as  I  am.  A  woman  is  a  star  —  no  —  A  woman  is 
a  love.  No !  The  word  won't  come. 

MADAME  G.  (half  opening  the  door). —  My 
dear  —  my  dear. 

MONSIEUR  G.  (striking  his  fist  on  his  desk). — 
Come  now,  this  is  altogether  too  much !  to  disturb 
me  again! 

MADAME  G. —  Good  gracious,  my  dear,  I  am 
very  sorry,  but  the  young  man  who  was  here  yes- 
terday has  come  for  his  manuscript. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Tell  him  to  go  to  the  devil ! 
he  and  his  "  Grand  Turk  in  Love."  I  was  sure 
that  this  cursed  manuscript  would  cause  me  no 
end  of  trouble.  Why  can't  he  keep  his  work  to 
himself? 

MADAME  G. —  Indeed,  you  can  say  what  you 
have  to  say  to  the  young  man  himself.  Come  in, 
monsieur,  here  is  my  husband. 

(Madame  G departs,  having  shown  in  a 

very  modestly  dressed  young  man,  who  bows 
confusedly  and  remains  near  the  door,  not  daring 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        99 

to  advance,  twirling  his  hat  in  his  hands  and  look- 
ing as  though  he  did  not  want  to  speak.) 

MONSIEUR  G.  (to  himself). —  I  must  remember 
that  I  was  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  myself  once. 
This  young  man  is  timid,  which  is  extremely  rare 
to-day.  (He  invites  the  young  man  to  be  seated. 
The  latter  places  himself  on  the  edge  of  a  chair 
and  stammers.) 

THE  YOUNG  MAN. —  Monsieur,  I  am  the  au- 
thor of  the  piece  which  has  been  placed  in  your 
hands.  I  should  be  very  highly  honored  to  begin 
with  you.  I  have  five  more  dramas  in  course  of 
writing  and  I  will  bring  them  all  to  you. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  No,  monsieur,  do  not  take  the 
trouble,  I  beg  of  you  ;  here  is  your  manuscript,  I 
cannot  accept  any  collaboration. 

THE  YOUNG  MAN. —  But,  monsieur,  if  this 
piece  does  not  please  you  I  have  others. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  As  I  had  the  honor  of  telling 
you,  such  an  arrangement  is  impossible. 

THE  YOUNG  MAN. —  At  least,  monsieur,  tell 
me  what  you  think  of  my  piece. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  The  title  alone  dismayed  me. 

THE  YOUNG  MAN.  —  However,  "Poison,  the 
Dagger,  and  the  Bowstring"  are  promising. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Exactly,  they  promise  horrors, 
and  I  am  not  a  horror-monger. 

THE  YOUNG  MAN. —  But,  monsieur,  is  it  not 
necessary  to  awaken  the  strongest  emotions  by 
means  of  the  drama. 


ioo     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

MONSIEUR  G. —  One  can  produce  them  with 
true  sentiments  and  touching  effects.  People  go 
the  second  time  to  see  a  play  that  makes  them  cry, 
but  they  rarely  go  back  to  see  one  that  makes 
them  shudder,  for  one  never  shudders  twice  at  the 
same  piece  and  one  will  cry  a  hundred  times  at  a 
play  like  "  Misanthropic  et  Repentie,"  of  which 
the  subject  was  eminently  popular.  Here  is  your 
manuscript. 

THE  YOUNG  MAN. — Then,  monsieur,  you  will 
not  work  with  me ;  and  what  do  you  advise  me 
to  do  with  my  "Grand  Turk  ?  " 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Anything  you  like.  Since  the 
piece  is  ready,  you  won't  lose  anything  by  offering 
it  elsewhere.  Pardon  me  if  I  don't  invite  you  to 
stay  longer,  as  I  have  some  work  to  finish. 

THE  YOUNG  MAN  (bowing). —  Monsieur,  I  am 
very  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you.  (He  turns  back.) 
Monsieur,  I  also  write  vaudevilles.  And  can  turn 
a  couplet  easily  enough. 

MONSIEUR  G. —  I  don't  doubt  it,  monsieur, 
turn  your  couplets ;  I  want  to  finish  my  poem. 

THE  YOUNG  MAN. —  I  wrote  some  couplets  for 
an  uncle's  birthday,  named  Gregoire.  The  name 
just  fitted,  the  couplets  were  thought  funny ;  if  you 
like  I  will  sing  them  for  you.  They  are  set  to  the 
tune  of  the  "  Petit  Matelot," 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Monsieur,  once  more  I  repeat 
to  you  that  I  have  to  work,  and  that  I  cannot  listen 
to  you  further. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       101 

THE  YOUNG  MAN. —  Then,  monsieur,  I  beg 
your  pardon.  I  will  leave  you.  Your  servant, 
monsieur.  (He  bows  and  leaves  the  study.) 

MONSIEUR  G. —  Ah,  that's  a  good  riddance. 

THE  YOUNG  MAN  (half  opening  the  door  of  the 
study). —  Monsieur,  I  am  nevertheless  delighted 
to  have  had  the  honor  of  making  your  acquaintance. 

MONSIEUR  G.  (reshutting  the  door).  —  And  I 
the  same,  monsieur,  I  assure  you.  This  young 
fellow  is  a  terrible  nuisance.  This  is  what  one  is 
exposed  to  in  taking  in  those  tiresome  manuscripts. 
I  ought  to  have  them  sent  away  from  the  door, 
as  so  many  others  do.  But  I  am  afraid  then  of 
sometimes  missing  a  friend's  visit.  If  only  my 
wife  and  the  maid  had  some  discrimination.  Let's 
see,  I  must  get  to  work  again  on  my  "  Domestic 
Happiness"  —  that's  a  pretty  title.  I'm  pleased 
with  my  title.  Oh,  where  was  I  ?  At  the  wife's 
portrait  (he  passes  his  hand  over  his  forehead). 
This  unfortunate  young  man  has  upset  all  my 
ideas.  This  was  it,  I  think, — 

A  woman  is  —  a  deity 

that's  it.  Ah,  I  remember  now  !  An  angel  would 
not  go.  "  A  woman  is  a  deity  who  watches  " 
"  who  " —  that  confounded  fellow,  with  his  "  Grand 
Turk" !  —  "  Who  watches  tenderly  o'er  the  cher- 
ished objects"  (some  one  rings).  "The  objects" 
(some  one  rings  again)  "o'er  the  — o'er  the  "  (some 
one  rings  louder).  Devil  take  that  bell !  My  wife's 


102     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

gone  out  with  the  children,  I  suppose,  and  the 
maid's  gone  on  an  errand.  But  they  may  ring, 
I  shan't  open  the  door.  (He  declaims)  — 

.     .      .     whose  minist'ring  care  doth  tell 
Each  day,  each  hour,  she  loves  her  husband  well 
A  woman  is  a  deity  — 

(Some  one  rings  fit  to  break  the  bell.)  They'll 
break  it.  There's  no  way  of  getting  out  of  it. 
(He  leaves  his  study  to  go  and  open  the  door.) 

A  tall,  dry,  yellow  gentlemen,  dressed  in  black, 
with  green  spectacles,  a  dirty  shirt  frill  and  dirty 
hands  enters  immediately,  exclaiming, — 

"  I  knew  very  well  that  there  was  somebody  in. 
The  porter  said  to  me,  '  There's  some  one  in ' ; 
that  was  why  I  persisted,  and  it  was  well  that  I 
did  so." 

MONSIEUR  G. —  But,  monsieur,  it  seems  to  me 
that  that  was  no  reason  for  breaking  my  bell. 

THE  TALL  GENTLEMAN  (pushing  Monsieur 

G into  the  room  and  treading  close  on  his 

heels). — Is  it  Monsieur  G ,  the  author,  whom 

I  have  the  honor  of  addressing  ? 

MONSIEUR  G.  (trying  to  prevent  the  gentleman 
from  going  in). —  Yes,  monsieur;  and  may  I  know 
your  name  ? 

THE  TALL  GENTLEMAN  (still  pushing  his  way 
in).  —  Faith,  I'm  pleased  enough  to  have  found 
you  in,  for  I  have  come  often  before  and  they  have 
always  told  me  you  were  out ;  which  is  vexatious 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       103 

when  one  lives  at  a  distance  and  it  rains.  I  detest 
umbrellas,  and  I  never  carry  one. 

MONSIEUR  G.  —  Will  you  tell  me,  monsieur, 
how  I  can  serve  you  ? 

THE  TALL  GENTLEMAN  (who  has  just  entered 
the  drawing-room). —  That  is  my  object.  I  ask 
a  moment's  audience  of  you — for  what  I  have  to 
propose  to  you  necessitates  an  explanation. 

MONSIEUR  G.  (aside,  after  looking  at  the  gen- 
tleman).—  He  hasn't  a  manuscript.  I  can  risk  it. 
(He  conducts  him  to  the  study  and  offers  him  a 
seat.  The  tall  gentleman  spreads  himself  out  in 
his  chair  and  takes  out  his  snuffbox.) 

THE  TALL  GENTLEMAN. —  I  will  go  straight  to 
my  end.  Do  you  take  snuff?  (offering  his  snuff- 
box)— it  is  quite  fresh. 

MONSIEUR  G.  —  I  never  take  it. 

THE  TALL  GENTLEMAN. — An  author  and  don't 
take  snuff?  you  astonish  me! 

Said  Aristotle  and  his  learned  clan 

Snuff  is  divine,  the  best  good  made  for  man. 

I  have  taken  it  since  I  was  fifteen  years  old ;  I  got 
accustomed  to  using  it  for  a  disease  of  the  eyes 
which  it  was  difficult  to  cure.  Monsieur,  I  have 

much    to  say  to  you  (Monsieur   G smiles 

broadly).  You  must  know,  in  the  first  place,  that 
I  have  travelled,  travelled  a  good  deal.  By  a  series 
of  adventures  which  it  would  take  me  too  long  to 
relate  to  you,  I  found  myself  one  morning  in 


104 

winter  right  in  the  midst  of  the  Apennines.  It  was 
not  warm  there,  I  can  assure  you ! 

MONSIEUR  G.  —  Monsieur,  are  you  trying  to 
tell  me  your  history  ?  If  so  — 

THE  TALL  GENTLEMAN  (still  speaking). — 
Another  time,  right  at  the  height  of  the  dog  days, 
I  found  myself  in  Spain.  In  the  Sierra  mountains 
a  burning  sun  shone  full  in  my  face.  That  yel- 
lowed my  complexion  considerably,  as  you  may 
perceive. 

MONSIEUR  G.  —  I  don't  care  whether  you  are 
yellow  or  not,  monsieur ;  but  I  should  like  to  know 
how  all  this  can  interest  me ! 

THE  TALL  GENTLEMAN. — Another  time  I  trav- 
elled on  foot  all  the  way  from  Milan  to  Naples, 
a  great  distance.  My  boots  were  in  holes,  from 
circumstances  which  would  take  too  long  in  the 
telling  (offering  his  snuffbox).  Do  you  take  snuff? 

MONSIEUR  G.  —  I  have  already  told  you  that 
I  do  not.  But  I  do  not  understand  how  — 

THE  TALL  GENTLEMAN  —  Another  time  I  was 
upset  with  a  diligence  on  the  way  to  Lyons ;  I  fell 
into  a  very  deep  gully,  my  body  was  one  mass  of 
bruises,  but,  strange  to  say,  an  apple  which  I  had 
in  the  left  pocket  of  my  coat  was  not  even  squashed 
—  I  say  squashed  because  that  word  best  expresses 
my  idea. 

MONSIEUR  G.  —  In  fact,  monsieur,  I  must  beg 
of  you  —  my  moments  are  precious  — 

THE  TALL  GENTLEMAN. — You  don't  take  snuff 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      105 

(he  takes  a  pinch).  I  have  reached  my  object, 
monsieur.  By  the  little  I  have  told  you,  you  may 
imagine  that  I  have  had  some  adventures  —  a  man 
who  travels  incessantly  for  thirty  years  must  needs 
have  a  good  many.  Well,  monsieur,  I  came  here 
to  make  your  fortune  —  and  my  own  at  the  same 
time — but  I  am  not  ambitious.  You  write  novels, 
I  have  learned  that  in  my  travels  —  well,  I'll  sell 
you  my  adventures,  which  will  furnish  you  mate- 
rial for  several  large  volumes — one  a  week;  your 
gains  will  be  large  and  we  will  share  them.  I  shan't 
put  my  name,  I'll  leave  you  all  the  glory. 

MONSIEUR  G.  (rising). —  If  I  had  guessed  the 
object  of  your  visit,  monsieur,  it  would  have  been 
shorter ;  I  do  not  buy  adventures. 

THE  TALL  GENTLEMAN. —  What !  they  won't 
suit  you  !  That  surprises  me.  Just  consider  that 
strange  adventures  will  make  your  works  lively, 
out  of  the  common,  thrillingly  emotional.  Then 
that  is  your  last  word  —  it  is  vexatious.  You  have 
lost  some  really  fine  topics  —  you  won't  use  them 
then  ?  (  He  takes  the  papers  up. )  I  should  have 
given  you  all  those  for  a  mere  song.  But  as  they 
don't  suit  you  —  can  you  oblige  me  by  lending  me 
a  hundred  sous.  I  have  forgotten  my  purse.  I 
will  return  them  to  you  when  I  am  passing  your 
way. 

Monsieur  G ,  delighted  to  get  rid  of  this 

gentleman,  hastily  puts  a  hundred  sous  into  his 
hand ;  the  tall  gentleman  then  bows  and  leaves  in 


io6     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

great  haste.    Monsieur  G shuts  his  door  again 

angrily,  and  goes  and  sits  down  again  in  front  of 
his  desk,  exclaiming, — 

"  What  an  insupportable  chatterer  (  he  takes  up 
his  pen,  muttering),  'A  woman  is  a  deity.'  I  have 
a  headache  ;  the  result  of  the  annoyance  I've  ex- 
perienced. '  A  woman  is  an  angel,  a  treasure.'  I 
don't  know  what  I  was  going  to  say  —  let  me  re- 
flect for  a  moment,  then  it  may  come  back  to  me." 
(He  rests  his  head  in  his  hand.) 

Madame  G half  opens  the  door  of  the  study 

very  softly,  and  puts  in  her  head  saying,  "  My 
dear,  I  only  want  to  say  two  words  to  you." 

MONSIEUR  G.  (without answering). — "A wom- 
an is  a  deity  — " 

MADAME  G. —  Why  don't  you  answer  me  ? 

MONSIEUR  G.  (turning  round  angrily). — Well, 
come  now,  what  is  it  —  let's  have  an  end  to  this. 
What  is  the  matter  with  you,  by  Jove  !  What  has 
happened  ?  Is  the  house  on  fire  ? 

MADAME  G. — Would  you  like  it  served  with 
sauce  or  with  oil  ? 

MONSIEUR  G.  (fiercely  thumps  his  desk  with  his 
fist,  making  his  papers  jump,  then  falls  back  des- 
pairingly into  his  chair  exclaiming), —  It's  fright- 
ful, madame  —  it  is  unpardonable  to  disturb  me 
like  this  about  a  fish  —  when  I  was  thinking,  when 
I  was  deeply  engrossed  in  my  subject.  You  ought 
to  have  been  a  grocer's  wife,  a  Beotian's  wife.  You 
don't  understand  an  author  ! 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       107 

MADAME  G.  (as  she  goes  out). —  We'll  have  it 
served  with  oil  then. 

Monsieur  G remains  alone  and  is  for  some 

time  so  overwhelmed  that  he  remains  motionless 
in  front  of  his  desk.  Finally,  as  he  grows  calmer 
and  his  ideas  begin  to  quicken  again,  and  he  takes 
up  his  pen,  his  children  knock  at  the  door  and 
shout, — 

"  Dinner,  papa  —  papa  —  dinner.  Everybody 
is  waiting  for  you  ! " 

Monsieur  G throws  his  pen  aside,  saying, 

"  This  is  an  author's  typical  day  !  " 


THE  PARISIANS  ON  THE  RAILWAY 

ON  a  Sunday,  and  in  such  beautiful  weather,  to 
risk  one's  self  on  the  railway  !  Oh,  monsieur, 
it  is  very  imprudent,  very  daring.  There  will  be 
too  many  people;  they'll  crowd,  and  fight  for 
places  ;  my  gown  and  cape  will  be  torn  to  ribbons; 
believe  me,  you  had  better  put  off  going." 

Thus  spoke  a  lady  of  some  fifty  summers,  who 
had  been  very  pretty  and  very  coquettish  and  who 
had  retained  her  coquetry  although  she  had  lost 
her  beauty.  This  was  Madame  Grenat,  the  wife 
of  a  big  jeweller  of  Paris.  During  a  long  period 
Madame  Grenat  had  shone  at  her  counter.  Fine 


io8     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

eyes,  beautiful  teeth,  a  pretty  hand,  invest  the  ob- 
jects one  wishes  to  purchase  with  increased  charm. 
One  must  have  a  very  solidly  established  trade  to 
venture  to  put  an  ugly  woman  behind  his  counter. 
M.  Grenat  had  not  repented  having  done  the  con- 
trary. Men  of  the  best  kind  had  brought  his  shop 
into  vogue  and  he  had  done  a  good  business.  For 
a  ring,  a  bracelet,  a  button,  one  paid  a  very  high 
price  at  his  place,  but  the  pretty  jeweller  had  the 
ability  to  give  a  smile  with  each  article  that  prob- 
ably was  without  price,  for  no  one  bargained  with 
her.  In  short,  M.  Grenat  had  acquired  a  fortune 
large  enough  for  all  his  needs,  and  he  had  two 
children  who  looked  very  like  his  wife. 

The  jeweller's  family  was  composed  of  a  daugh- 
ter aged  seventeen  and  a  little  boy  ten  years  old. 
The  young  lady  was  tall,  thin,  fair,  and  timid.  One 
would  suppose  that  she  might  have  fine  eyes,  but 
one  could  not  be  certain  of  it,  because  she  never 
raised  them.  They  had  left  Adolphine  at  a  board- 
ing school  until  she  was  sixteen.  During  the  year 
she  had  been  with  her  parents  she  had  often  re- 
gretted her  school  companions  and  their  recreations. 

As  to  young  Benjamin  Grenat,  he  was  what  is 
commonly  called  a  little  devil,  a  determined  little 
rascal,  one  of  those  small  boys  whose  parents  think 
them  lads  of  spirit  because  they  constantly  make 
enough  noise  to  deafen  everybody,  break  every- 
thing, touch  everything,  mix  themselves  up  in 
everything,  and  are  always  hungry. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      109 

I  have  not  told  you  that  the  jeweller  was  a  big 
man  of  fifty-five  with  a  jolly  face,  who  wore  a  beau- 
tiful blond  wig  curled  above  his  left  eye;  that  he 
was  possessed  with  a  mania  to  talk  incessantly  of  his 
business,  to  try  to  be  witty,  and  to  believe  that  he 
was  master  in  his  own  house,  although  little  Ben- 
jamin was  really  the  only  master  of  the  house  and 
had  been  since  he  attained  his  fifth  year. 

"  If  you  don't  want  to  go  to  Saint-Germain  on 
the  railroad,"  answered  M.  Grenat  stroking  his  chin, 
"  I  don't  at  all  care,  I'm  not  greatly  set  on  going. 
I  was  only  thinking  of  doing  so  to  give  you  pleas- 
ure. And  I  shall  go  to  a  friend's  this  morning 
who  has  asked  me  to  look  at  and  give  my  opinion 
on  some  rubies  which  he  says  are  very  fine.  I 
shall  be  able  to  judge  of  them." 

"Yes,  I  would  much  rather  go  to  the  Tuileries," 
said  Madame  Grenat,  going  to  glance  in  her  mirror, 
which  formerly  had  reflected  many  pretty  things. 

Mademoiselle  Adolphine  sighed  when  she  heard 
they  were  not  going  on  the  railway.  Was  it  simply 
regret  for  a  lost  pleasure  excursion  ?  or  was  there 
some  other  secret  cause  for  that  sigh  ?  Whichever 
it  may  have  been,  the  young  girl  turned  towards 
her  mother  and,  without  raising  her  eyes,  asked, — 

"  Must  I  change  my  dress  again  to  go  to  the 
Tuileries  ? " 

"You  will  do  very  well  as  you  are,"  answered 
Madame  Grenat.  "  At  your  age  one  should  not 
be  incessantly  thinking  about  dress." 


no     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

The  drawing-room  door  was  noisily  opened  just 
then.  A  little  boy,  his  face  smeared  with  choco- 
late and  sweetmeats,  darted  into  the  middle  of  the 
room,  shouting, — 

"  Well,  aren't  we  going  to  start  ?  aren't  you 
ready  ?  What  a  long  time  it  takes  you  ! " 

This  was  M.  Benjamin,  who  had  been  having 
a  third  breakfast  and  presented  himself  in  this  state 
to  his  parents. 

"Why,  yes,  my  dear,"  said  mamma,  readjusting 
her  bonnet,  "  we  are  going  to  the  Tuileries." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  The  Tuileries,  why, 
that  isn't  where  we  were  going ;  it  was  on  the  rail- 
way. Papa  told  me  yesterday  that  today  we  should 
go  on  the  railway.  I  want  to  go  there  !  I'm  tired 
of  your  old  Tuileries,  it's  always  the  same  thing. 
Besides,  you  told  me  that  you  would  take  me  on 
the  railway.  Were  you  telling  me  a  story,  papa? 
that  would  be  naughty." 

"  No,  I  only  say  what  I  mean.  In  fact,  I  don't 
see  why  we  should  not  go  on  the  railway  today ; 
it  seems  to  me  I  am  master  here." 

"  Then,"  said  Madame  Grenat,  putting  on  her 
cape,  "since  Benjamin  wishes  it  so  much,  let  us  go 
on  the  railway." 

"  Let  some  one  call  a  carriage,"  said  M.  Grenat 
to  his  servant.  "  Are  you  ready,  madame  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear ;  good  heavens !  here's  Benja- 
min's trousers  torn  at  the  knee.  How  did  you  do 
that,  you  scamp  ?  " 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      in 

"  Mercy,  I  don't  know,  it  came  of  itself." 

"  If  it  came  of  itself,  my  dear,  he  is  not  to  blame," 
muttered  the  jeweller. 

"  But  he  can't  go  out  like  that." 

"Why  not,"  answered  papa,  "with  his  jacket 
on,  it  will  never  be  seen." 

"  I  want  to  put  on  another  pair ! "  said  the  lit- 
tle boy,  "  I  want  to  put  on  a  pair  of  white  ones." 

"  But  you  will  be  cold,  my  dear,  the  weather 
isn't  warm  enough  for  those  yet." 

"  So  much  the  better,  it's  fun  to  be  cold." 

"  He's  full  of  spirits,"  said  the  jeweller  aside  to 
his  wife. 

The  cab  had  arrived  and  M.  Benjamin  had  put 
on  his  white  trousers.  The  whole  family  went 
downstairs,  Mademoiselle  Adolphine  dared  not 
glance  into  her  looking-glass ;  her  mother  had  so 
often  said  that  a  young  girl  should  not  be  vain  that 
the  poor  child  did  not  know  that  she  was  pretty. 

At  the  moment  of  getting  into  the  carriage 
M.  Benjamin,  in  trying  to  jump  on  the  step,  man- 
aged to  slip  and  soil  his  trousers  against  a  wheel. 

"  What  a  tiresome  child !  "  exclaimed  Madame 
Grenat,  "  see  what  he  has  done  now." 

"  It  wasn't  my  fault  that  I  slipped  ;  did  I  do  it 
on  purpose?"  answered  M.  Benjamin  with  an 
impertinent  air. 

"  No,"  said  the  jeweller  ;  "  we  can't  suppose  that 
he  did  it  on  purpose.  But  it  is  nothing,  he  can 
cover  it  with  his  hat  so  it  won't  be  seen." 


ii2     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  Oh,  won't  it,"  said  Benjamin,  "  everybody 
will  be  making  fun  of  me ;  I'm  going  to  put  on 
my  blue  trousers." 

"  Monsieur,  you  will  pay  me  by  the  hour,"  said 
the  coachman,  "  while  the  little  boy  goes  up  to 
change  his  trousers  for  the  second  time.  I  have 
been  standing  at  the  door  now,  for  half  an  hour." 

"  That's  all  right !   that  will  rest  your  horses." 

Finally  M.  Benjamin  got  his  blue  trousers  on, 
and  this  time  he  got  into  the  cab  without  acci- 
dent ;  but  just  as  they  were  about  to  close  the 
carriage  door  he  began  to  shout, — 

"  Brusquet !  where's  Brusquet !  we  have  forgot- 
ten Brusquet." 

M.  Grenat  looked  at  his  wife,  as  if  to  ask  her 
whether  he  must  go  in  search  of  Brusquet,  an  enor- 
mous mastiff  that  their  son  had  picked  up  and 
developed  a  great  affection  for  within  the  past  few 
days.  Madame  Grenat  was  undecided  ;  but  the 
cabby,  tired  of  waiting  so  long,  had  closed  the  door, 
remounted  to  his  seat  and  whipped  his  horses  with- 
out paying  any  attention  to  the  shouts  of  the  little 
boy,  whom  they  quieted  by  telling  him  that  dogs 
were  not  allowed  on  the  railway.  So  they  were 
off  at  last ;  the  cab  presently  stopped  in  the  Rue 
des  Londres  in  front  of  the  railway  offices. 

The  scene  was  curious  to  an  observer.  At  the 
door  of  the  establishment,  where  transportation 
tickets  were  taken,  you  saw  honest  men  solemnly 
saying  good-by  to  their  families,  fathers  kissing 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       113 

their  daughters,  husbands  pressing  their  wives' 
hands,  while  the  latter  had  tears  in  their  eyes,  as 
if  the  husband  was  starting  for  Russia  or  embark- 
ing for  New  Orleans.  This  was  because  we  were 
not  as  yet  familiar  with  this  way  of  travelling, 
partly  above  ground,  and  partly  subterranean,  and 
because  in  Paris  there  were  still  people  who  would 
say,  "  To  go  on  the  railway !  why,  it  is  to  take 
your  life  in  your  hands  !  " 

However,  M.  Grenat  had  taken  his  wife's  arm 
and  his  son's  hand,  signing  to  his  daughter  that 
she  should  follow  them.  The  whole  family  went 
into  the  establishment,  where,  confused  by  the 
crowd  which  surrounded  them  and  by  the  confu- 
sion around  them,  M.  Grenat  walked  about  the 
corridors  for  a  long  time  without  being  able  to  find 
the  office  where  they  were  to  take  their  tickets. 

"  Are  we  on  it  now  ?  "  demanded  Benjamin, 
looking  at  his  father. 

"  On  what  ?  " 

"  On  the  railroad  !  this  is  so  stupid." 

"  No,  no,  not  yet  —  that  is  to  say,  we  are  in  the 
station." 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  now  ?  Shall  we  never 
have  done  walking  about  these  passages?" 

"  It  certainly  is  becoming  very  wearisome,"  said 
Madame  Grenat.  "  Adolphine,  you  are  following 
us,  are  you  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  Is  it  my  fault  if  I  can't  find  the  ticket-office  ?  " 

Vol.  XIX 


1 14     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN   LIFE 

"  You  must  ask  for  it,  monsieur ;  we  can't  pass 
our  day  in  looking  for  this  office  ?  " 

"  That  is  so,  I  was  just  going  to  ask  ;  that's 
what  I  was  going  to  do  !  " 

M.  Grenat  decided  to  leave  his  wife  and  his  son 
for  a  moment  to  go  and  inquire  where  the  office 
was,  and  he  found  he  had  passed  it  several  times. 
Finally  he  asked  for  four  places. 

"  For  where  ?  "  the  clerk  asked  him. 

"  Why,  for  the  railway." 

"  I  asked  you  where  you  wanted  to  go." 

"  Where,  by  Jove  !  wherever  you  like." 

"  To  Saint-Germain  ?  or  to  Asnieres  ?  " 

"Oh,  very  well  —  I  understand,  I  didn't  quite 
get  your  meaning  at  first.  Why  to  —  I  didn't 
think  to  ask  whether  Benjamin  wanted  to  go  to 
Saint-Germain  or  to  Asnieres.  Four  to  Saint- 
Germain,  worse  luck." 

"  What  places  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  What  places  ?  I  don't  know  what  you  mean 
at  all." 

"  Coaches  or  wagons  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  well !  the  best  are  the  safest  of  course. 
When  one  goes  on  the  railroad  one  mustn't  think 
of  the  expense." 

They  gave  M.  Grenat  four  places  in  the  car- 
riages. He  returned  proudly  towards  his  family 
saying, — 

"  We  have  tickets ;  four  places  in  the  best  car- 
riages. They  are  cushioned,  wadded.  We  shall 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       115 

be  as  comfortable  as  though  in  a  hired  box.  Come, 
come  along,  for  from  the  way  people  are  moving 
I  suppose  it  won't  be  long  before  the  train  starts." 

The  Grenat  family  again  began  to  pass  through 
the  passages  in  search  of  the  railway,  and  would 
again  have  lost  themselves  in  the  station,  had  not 
Benjamin  shouted,  "We  must  follow  everybody." 
Thanks  to  this  happy  thought  the  family  soon 
reached  the  great  staircase  which  led  to  the  start- 
ing place. 

When  one  sees  for  the  first  time  this  adventu- 
rous method  of  travelling,  this  beautiful  and  at  the 
same  time  simple  invention,  one  cannot  repress  a 
secret  emotion.  The  Grenat  family  were  much 
moved  at  the  sight  of  the  carriages  and  the  loco- 
motive in  this  huge  underground  vault. 

"  Good  heavens,  monsieur,  how  queer  it  makes 
me  feel,"  said  Madame  Grenat,  leaning  heavily 
on  her  husband's  arm. 

"  Why,  madame,  you're  not  frightened  by  this, 
are  you  ?  "  answered  the  jeweller,  trying  to  smile 
to  hide  the  fear  which  he  himself  experienced. 

"  How  it  smells  of  smoke  —  of  pit  coal,"  said 
Benjamin. 

"It  always  does,  my  dear.  It's  just  the  same 
in  the  seaport  towns." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  on  the  sea,  papa  ? " 

" No,  but  I  have  been  to  Saint-Cloud  by  steam; 
it  is  the  same  thing." 

Mademoiselle  said  nothing,  but  she  could  not 


n6     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

help  looking  out  on  the  road  she  was  to  travel, 
and  for  the  first  time  she  raised  her  beautiful  eyes, 
one  benefit  already  secured  by  the  railway. 

"It  is  only  a  matter  now  of  getting  into  the 
right  carriage,"  said  M.  Grenat. 

"  Let's  make  haste,  papa,  they're  all  getting  in." 

"  Certainly,  of  course  we  must  make  haste.  But 
how  is  one  to  know  where  to  go  ?  the  smoke  is 
stupefying." 

Fortunately  for  the  jeweller's  family  one  of  the 
conductors  came  and  asked  M.  Grenat  what  places 
he  had  taken.  The  latter  showed  his  tickets,  and 
the  man  opened  the  door  of  a  carriage  in  which 
there  were  already  four  persons.  Benjamin  jumped 
first  into  the  coach,  then  Madame  Grenat  mounted 
tremblingly,  then  mademoiselle,  then  the  head  of 
the  family,  who  sank  into  the  cushioned  seat  mut- 
tering in  a  resigned  manner  which  was  not  at  all 
reassuring, — 

"  There's  no  turning  back  now  -7—  here  we  are, 
by  the  grace  of  God  !  " 

"  Oh,  good  heavens ! "  said  Madame  Grenat, 
rolling  her  eyes  affrightedly  about  her.  "  I've  a 
great  mind  to  get  out  and  go  back  home." 

Tall  Adolphine  did  not  seem  in  the  least  fright- 
ened ;  she  was  seated  beside  her  father  and  she 
had  noticed  already  that  the  person  who  sat  op- 
posite her  was  a  young  man  employed  in  a  novelty 
shop  situated  exactly  opposite  M.  Grenat's,  and 
who  often  stood  at  the  door  of  his  place  of  business 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       117 

since  the  jeweller's  daughter  had  left  school ;  which 
proves  that  young  girls  can  see  perfectly  well  with- 
out raising  their  eyes.  In  general  it  is  very  rare 
that  women  are  short-sighted ;  that  is  an  infirmity 
reserved  to  men;  nature  does  every  thing  for  the  best. 

While  Monsieur  and  Madame  Grenat  were 
consulting  as  to  whether  they  dared  remain  on  the 
railroad,  little  Benjamin  had  left  his  place  and  gone 
towards  the  open  door  saying, — 

"  I  can't  see  anything  here.  I  want  to  see,  I 
do ;  I  want  to  go  in  the  carriage  that  has  a  stove." 

"  My  son,"  said  M.  Grenat ;  "  nobody  goes  on 
the  locomotive ;  it  would  not  be  safe." 

"  I  want  to  go  on  it,  I  do." 

"  Benjamin,  I'll  explain  to  you  why  you  can't 
go  on  it." 

"  Leave  me  alone  !  I  will  go  on  it ;  "  and  Ben- 
jamin quickly  descended  from  the  coach. 

"  Good  heavens  !  where  is  he  going  ?  he'll  get 
himself  crushed  in  something,"  cried  Madame 
Grenat  as  she  saw  her  son  disappear.  "  M.  Grenat, 
run  after  him,  stop  him !  bring  him  back  quick,  I 
beg  of  you  !  " 

"He's  a  demon,"  said  the  jeweller,  getting  out 
of  the  carriage.  "  He's  afraid  of  nothing ;  he  takes 
after  me.  I'll  go  and  look  after  him." 

Some  moments  rolled  by  ;  the  father  and  son 
did  not  reappear.  Madame  Grenat  could  not  re- 
sist her  uneasiness ;  she  in  her  turn  darted  out  of 
the  carriage  and  ran  along  calling  Benjamin. 


n8     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

Benjamin  had  not  answered  his  mother,  but  on 
the  other  hand  the  whistle  blew  as  a  signal  for 
departure.  The  travellers  came  running,  the  crowd 
pressed  against  the  rails  and  precipitated  themselves 
into  the  carriages.  In  vain  the  officers  sought  to 
establish  order,  and  shouted, — 

"Your  ticket!  you  don't  belong  here,  you 
shouldn't  have  got  in  there." 

Nobody  listened  to  anything  they  said,  and  in 
one  instant  carriages,  coaches,  wagons,  were  in- 
vaded, rilled,  and  Madame  Grenat  found  herself  in 
the  midst  of  a  group  that  pushed  and  almost  car- 
ried her  into  a  wagon.  In  vain  the  jeweller's  wife 
looked  around  her,  exclaiming, — 

"  I  was  not  here,  this  isn't  my  place.  I  ought 
to  be  with  my  family." 

No  one  paid  any  attention  to  the  lamentations 
of  the  poor  lady ;  a  slight  disturbance  announced 
that  the  chain  was  loosened;  they  had  started. 
Madame  Grenat,  who  did  not  realize  this,  wanted 
to  open  the  door  and  get  down  ;  a  very  rough  hand 
restrained  her  and  pushed  her  into  her  seat,  while 
several  voices  exclaimed  at  the  same  time, — 

"Why,  madame,  what  are  you  going  to  do 
there  ?  one  can  no  longer  get  down  !  we  are  on  the 
way." 

"  That  is  all  the  same  to  me.  I  wish  to  get 
out.  I  want  to  get  into  a  coach.  Stop,  coachman ! 
Let  me  get  down  !  " 

Shouts  of  laughter  greeted  the  good  woman's 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK     n9 

exclamations,  and  she  darted  angry  looks  at  her 
travelling  companions. 

Madame  Grenat  found  that  she  was  in  a  wagon 
the  benches  of  which  were  guiltless  of  upholstery. 
She  had  on  her  left  two  men  in  blue  blouses,  cot- 
ton nightcaps,  and  leathern  gaiters,  who  smelled  of 
tobacco,  ale,  wine  and  brandy.  On  her  right  a 
very  pretty  young  woman  was  engaged  in  talking 
to  a  very  young  man ;  two  children,  a  nurse. 
Opposite  were  three  young  men  who  looked  like 
idle,  dissolute  scamps  ;  two  little  peasant  girls  who 
looked  anything  but  pastoral ;  a  coxcomb  of  sixty 
and  two  workmen  dressed  in  their  Sunday  clothes. 

The  two  country  girls  looked  at  the  jeweller's 
wife  and  laughed  jeeringly.  The  workmen  did  the 
same,  the  old  coxcomb  made  grimaces,  the  young 
people  jokes,  and  the  two  wagoners  swore. 

"  We  are  one  too  many,"  said  the  old  dandy, 
"  there  should  not  be  so  many  in  a  wagon." 

"  Gentlemen,  make  them  stop,  I  beg  of  you," 
said  Madame  Grenat,  after  a  moment;  "I  wish  to 
rejoin  my  family." 

"It  isn't  going  very  fast  yet,"  said  one  of  the 
men  in  blouses  to  his  neighbor. 

"  We  shall  go  faster  in  a  bit,  you'll  see ;  one 
could  sharpen  his  knife  on  the  rails ! " 

"  How  funny  that  is,"  answered  the  other,  "  one 
can't  feel  that  one  is  going." 

"  That  is  what  makes  it  so  charming,"  said  one 
of  the  young  men. 


120     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  We  are  one  too  many,"  resumed  the  old  cox- 
comb, trying  to  make  his  eyes  larger  to  look  at 
the  pretty  woman,  who  was  talking  aside  without 
paying  any  attention  to  her  neighbors. 

"  What  a  strange  noise  it  makes,"  said  one  of 
the  workmen. 

"  It's  the  effect  of  the  machinery  in  the  thing," 
answered  his  comrade,  assuming  a  very  knowing 
expression. 

"  Do  you  think  that's  what  causes  it  ? " 

"  Hang  it!  don't  I  know  something  about  the 
mechanism,  I  might  have  been  employed  myself 
at  the  works  where  they  make  them ;  but  I  went 
there  too  late,  I  didn't  know  about  it  before." 

"There  !  there!  we're  going  at  a  fine  rate  now," 
said  one  of  the  wagoners. 

"  I  think  it  is  going  to  make  me  ill,"  said 
Madame  Grenat,  desperate  because  no  one  paid 
any  attention  to  her. 

"  We  are  one  too  many,"  said  the  little  old  fop, 
munching  a  toothache  lozenge  to  make  people 
believe  he  still  had  teeth  left. 

"  Is  he  continually  going  to  repeat  the  same 
thing  ?  "  muttered  one  of  the  countrywomen. 

"He  tires  me,  the  old  parrot  without  feathers ! 
he  never  takes  his  eyes  off  me  !  " 

"  Make  a  face  at  him  !  " 

"  Good  God  !  where  are  we  ?  one  can't  see  a  bit 
of  light,"  exclaimed  Madame  Grenat  when  they 
got  into  the  tunnel. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       121 

"  Keep  still,  madame,"  said  one  of  the  carters, 
"  you  deafen  us  with  your  exclamations." 

"  But  I  can't  see  anything  clearly." 

"  Well,  neither  can  we." 

"  But  it  is  very  embarrassing  to  travel  with 
strangers  in  the  dark." 

"  Don't  be  afraid  !  If  you  were  twenty  years  or 
so  younger  one  could  understand  your  fears  ;  but 
now,  mother,  you  could  travel  fifty  leagues  with- 
out a  candle." 

Madame  Grenat  bit  her  lips  with  vexation;  her 
wounded  self-conceit  drove  away  her  fright.  She 
muttered  between  her  teeth, — 

"  Uneducated  people  are  very  coarse  in  their 
manners  to  women  !  " 

But  she  said  it  too  low  for  her  neighbors  to  hear 
it.  Then  she  gave  a  great  jerk  with  her  elbow  to 
the  right,  and  one  with  her  foot  to  the  left,  and 
breathed  not  a  word  during  the  whole  of  the  way. 

While  these  things  were  transpiring  in  the  wagon 
which  carried  Madame  Grenat,  her  husband  was 
also  experiencing  his  tribulations.  After  getting 
out  of  the  carriage  to  look  for  his  son  the  jeweller 
had  run  towards  another  into  which  he  had  seen  a 
little  boy  mount  who  at  a  distance  resembled  Ben- 
jamin. When  he  saw  his  mistake  he  wanted  to 
get  down,  but  then  had  come  the  rush,  M.  Grenat 
found  himself  blocked  between  two  other  passen- 
gers, the  train  had  immediately  started,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  remain  where  chance  had  placed  him. 


122     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

The  carriage  in  which  M.  Grenat  found  himself 
was  filled  with  very  choice  company  ;  there  was  an 
English  family,  an  old  countess,  accompanied  by 
her  niece,  a  banker  of  the  Chaussee-d'Antin,  and 
two  barristers.  There  was  but  a  single  person  who 
cast  a  shade  over  the  picture  ;  and  that  was  a  very 
ill-dressed  little  man,  wearing  a  hat  that  had  hardly 
any  rim,  a  seedy  coat,  the  cuffs  and  facings  of  which 
looked  like  tinder,  and  trousers  so  short  that  one 
might  almost  have  taken  them  for  breeches,  de- 
spite the  efforts  of  their  wearer  to  get  them  down 
to  his  ankles.  As  for  that  the  little  man  himself 
seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  out  of  place  among  all 
these  fashionable  people.  He  snuggled  down  in 
a  corner,  as  far  out  of  sight  as  possible,  looked  con- 
tinually at  his  shoes,  and  when  he  wanted  to  use 
his  handkerchief  hid  the  process  with  his  hat,  which 
he  took  off*  expressly  for  that  purpose. 

M.  Grenat  had  fallen  between  two  Englishmen; 
he  had  smiled  at  them,  muttering, — 

"  I  am  here  in  spite  of  myself;  I  ran  after  my 
son,  I  thought  I  saw  him  get  into  this  coach,  but 
I  was  mistaken.  Where  can  he  be  ?  I  am  very 
uneasy  about  him." 

The  Englishmen  had  looked  at  M.  Grenat  with- 
out moving  a  muscle,  nor  did  they  answer  him  a 
word.  Then  the  jeweller  turned  towards  the  rather 
shabby  little  man,  but  the  latter  having  sneezed 
had  quickly  hidden  his  head  in  his  hat. 

For  ten  minutes  the  company  kept  the  most 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      123 

complete  silence.  However,  in  going  into  the  long 
tunnel  a  little  English  girl  having  uttered  an  excla- 
mation, one  of  her  companions  said  to  her, — 

"  Be  quiet  immediately  ;  it  is  very  bad  form  to 
be  frightened." 

The  English  girl  was  silent.  But  M.  Grenat, 
who  was  frightened  also,  exclaimed  as  he  saw  the 
light  again, — 

"  Confound  it !  I  am  decidedly  pleased  to  be 
out  of  that.  One  ought  to  insure  himself  in  the 
Phcenix  before  setting  out." 

The  aristocratic  company  breathed  not  a  word. 
The  little  threadbare  man  turned  to  take  snuff  from 
a  pewter  box,  and  M.  Grenat,  greatly  wondering 
that  his  pleasantry  produced  no  effect,  settled  his 
wig  and  retired  into  his  cravat. 

In  a  few  moments  the  countess  said,  addressing 
one  of  the  Englishmen, — 

"  Who  and  what  are  all  these  men  who  are  placed 
at  intervals  beside  the  road,  and  who  raise  an  arm 
in  the  air  as  we  go  by  ? " 

"Those  are  the  signal  men ;  they  are  placed  there 
to  show  the  train  men  that  they  may  proceed  with- 
out danger.  When  they  raise  a  little  black  flag 
that  means  that — " 

"We  must  not — " 

"  We  must  not  what  ?  " 

"Why  —  I  meant  to  say — we  must  not — " 
here  the  Englishman  was  at  a  loss  for  a  word  and 
paused. 


i24     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"Ah,  I  understand,"  said  M.  Grenat, who  always 
wanted  to  mingle  in  the  conversation.  "When 
they  move  their  black  flag  that  means  they've  got 
the  pest  at  Saint-Germain,  that  is  very  ingenious." 

The  Englishman  turned  towards  the  jeweller, 
looked  at  him  in  a  very  disdainful  manner,  then 
muttered, — 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about." 

M.  Grenat  had  a  momentary  desire  to  be  angry, 
but  he  thought  better  of  it.  During  the  rest  of 
the  journey  the  silence  was  interrupted  only  by 
two  stifled  sneezes  in  the  depths  of  a  hat. 

Let  us  return  now  to  M.  Benjamin.  After  leaving 
his  parents,  he  found  himself  against  a  wagon  just 
as  the  train  was  starting.  Not  knowing  what  he 
could  do  further  to  join  his  father,  the  little  boy 
began  to  cry.  A  vigorous  hand  had  then  lifted  him 
by  the  arm  and  put  him  in  the  wagon  ;  then  a 
gentleman  with  mustaches  and  a  medal  had  said 
to  him, — 

"  Come,  little  chap,  don't  cry  ;  you  are  all  right 
here  ;  you  are  going  on  the  railway." 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  not  with  papa  and  mamma." 

"  Why  did  you  leave  them  ?  " 

"  To  see  a  big  machine  with  smoke  coming  out 
of  it.  They  are  in  a  carriage  with  cushions." 

"  You  will  find  them  at  Pecq." 

"  I  would  much  rather  find  them  now." 

"  That  you  can't  do,  no  one  can  get  out  now, 
we  are  moving." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       125 

"But  I—" 

"  Silence  ! " 

"But  for  all  that  —  " 

"  By  the  powers  !  if  you  are  not  quiet  I  shall  be 
angry." 

M.  Benjamin  was  silent ;  for  his  neighbor  the 
soldier  did  not  seem  inclined  to  treat  him  with  the 
indulgence  to  which  he  was  accustomed. 

Presently  conversation  ensued  between  the  per- 
sons in  the  wagon.  They  were  a  grisette,  several 
shopkeepers  from  the  capital,  three  soldiers,  and 
a  middle-aged  gentleman  who,  with  much  affecta- 
tion, kept  drawing  from  his  pocket  a  copper  gilt 
snuffbox,  into  which  he  plunged  two  fingers  on 
which  were  huge  rings  with  false  stones.  He  would 
then  describe  a  semicircle  with  his  arm  in  such 
a  manner  that  when  he  took  snuff  his  neighbor 
on  the  right  was  obliged  to  make  himself  as  small 
as  possible  so  as  not  to  receive  a  thrust  from  an 
elbow  in  his  face. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  one  of  the  shopkeepers  look- 
ing around  on  his  fellow-travellers,  "  I  must  con- 
fess that  this  railway  is  a  fine  thing  for  trade,  and 
that  the  enterprise  gives  great  facilities  to  travellers." 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  fine,"  said  one  of  the  soldiers, 
"  but  when  they  can  put  cavalry  in  the  wagons  that 
will  be  finer  still,  because  then  they  can  go  a  hun- 
dred leagues  without  knocking  up  the  horses." 

"  I  see  nothing  impossible  in  that,  monsieur ; 
they  have  put  post  boxes  in  the  omnibuses." 


126     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"I  want  to  go  and  find  my  papa,"  said  Benjamin. 

"  Silence,  child  !  brats  are  not  allowed  to  speak 
here." 

The  man  with  the  false  stones  described  a  circle 
with  his  arm,  saying, — 

"  What  is  necessary,  above  all,  is  that  the  enter- 
prise ha,  ha !  hum  !  should  be  profitable  to  the 
theatres." 

And  the  gentleman  began  singing  in  a  contralto 
voice  beating  the  time  on  his  snuffbox.  "  £  Ah, 
lovely  day '  —  one,  two  — f  we'll  sing  of  glory  '  — 
one,  two,  three,  four  — c  for  lover  gay  '  —  one,  two 
—  c  what  victory.' ' 

"  Are  we  going  into  a  long  tunnel  ?  "  asked  the 
grisette,  while  the  gentleman  was  still  singing. 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle,"  answered  the  soldier  who 
had  lifted  Benjamin  in,  "  that  is  to  say  under  an 
arch ;  but  be  quite  easy,  there  isn't  the  slightest 
danger.  Come  little  one,  keep  your  legs  still  or 
I  shall  thump  you,  by  the  powers  !  " 

"  It  must  be  much  more  terrifying  when  one  is 
in  the  tunnel  under  the  Thames,"  said  a  trades- 
man. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  the  singer,  "  I  have  often 
heard  tell  of  the  tunnel  under  the  Thames,  they 
assert  it  to  be  as  light  as  the  Passage  des  Pano- 
ramas. It  seems  to  me  they  should  build  an  opera 
house  there.  c  Ah,  lovely  day  '  —  one,  two  —  (  for 
lover  gay '  —  one,  two  !  Will  you  take  a  pinch, 
monsieur  ? " 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       127 

"Willingly." 

"  It  is  pure  Virginia ;  I  never  take  any  other." 

"  Monsieur  is  on  the  stage,  I  wager." 

"  You  are  not  mistaken.  First  bass  singer  in 
opera.  I  lead  —  " 

"  The  orchestra  ?  " 

"  No  the  choruses.  I  am  called  at  this  moment 
to  Perigueux,  where  I  am  assured  they  have  some 
very  bad  choruses,  but  I  shall  mend  all  that.  *  Ah 
lovely  day '  —  one,  two  — '  we'll  sing  of  glory  '  — 
one,  two,  three,  four." 

At  this  moment  they  entered  the  long  tunnel, 
M.  Benjamin  gave  vent  to  frightful  howls  when  he 
saw  how  dark  it  was  ;  and  as  he  would  not  be  quiet 
his  neighbor  the  soldier  gave  him  a  little  slap  on 
the  cheek,  saying, — 

"It  is  necessary  to  correct  poltroons  early,  or 
else  when  they  grow  up  they  will  be  cowards." 

Benjamin  had  never  received  the  slightest  per- 
sonal chastisement  in  his  life,  and  the  correction 
produced  such  an  effect  upon  him  that  during  the 
whole  remainder  of  the  journey  he  dared  neither 
talk,  nor  move,  nor  budge. 

At  length  they  arrived  at  Pecq  just  as  the  opera 
singer  was  repeating  his  one,  two  for  the  twentieth 
time.  The  soldier  himself  helped  the  little  boy  out 
of  the  wagon,  saying  to  him  in  a  softened  tone, — 

"  Come,  we  have  ended  by  being  good,  then. 
I  knew  that  I  should  make  something  of  you." 

Benjamin  did  not  answer,  but  he  set  off  running, 


128     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

for  he  perceived  his  father,  who  had  rejoined  his 
wife,  who  had  recovered  her  daughter.  They  fell 
into  each  other's  arms ;  it  seemed  as  if  they  had 
not  seen  each  other  for  ten  years.  Madame  Grenat 
kissed  even  her  daughter,  which  only  happened 
under  extraordinary  circumstances. 

So  far  as  that  goes,  the  railway  journey  had 
borne  its  fruits ;  the  jeweller's  wife  was  infinitely 
less  coquettish,  the  jeweller  himself  was  less  talka- 
tive, Benjamin  much  more  obedient,  and  the  tall 
Adolphine  had  learned  that  she  was  pretty,  for  the 
clerk  from  the  novelty  shop  had  told  her  so  several 
times  on  the  way.  No  one,  then,  can  as  yet  deny 
the  utility  of  the  railway. 


THE  GRISETTES'  BALL 

MADEMOISELLE  ADOLPHINE,  a  lit- 
tle seamstress  who  did  plain  needlework  in 
her  own  room,  was  a  pretty  dark  girl,  provokingly 
coquettish  and  the  least  bit  roguish  in  her  appear- 
ance ;  her  waist  was  slender,  her  form  rounded,  her 
ankle  slender,  her  foot — well,  it  was  not  small,  but 
it  was  well-made,  with  a  finely-arched  instep,  which 
is  highly  preferable  to  a  small,  flat  foot.  In  fact, 
Mademoiselle  Adolphine  was  a  very  pleasing  little 
person,  and  she  could  hardly  stir  out  of  doors  with- 
out making  some  sort  of  a  conquest ;  that,  how- 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      129 

ever,  is  neither  here  nor  there,  for  the  very  plainest 
women  make  them  sometimes.  There  are  so  many 
men  in  Paris  who  do  not  know  how  to  employ 
either  their  time  or  themselves,  and  who  in  default 
of  something  better  to  do  think  they  must  follow 
and  accost  all  the  women  they  meet  without  es- 
corts. They  will  follow  this  one  for  her  general 
appearance,  the  other  for  her  waist,  another  for  her 
ankle,  and  yet  another  for  her  foot ;  and  as  it  is  rare 
to  find  a  woman  absolutely  devoid  of  attraction, 
these  gentlemen  always  find  some  one  to  follow 
and  must  inevitably  be  extremely  tired  at  the  end 
of  their  day's  work. 

In  short,  Mademoiselle  Adolphine,  with  her 
twenty-two  years,  her  handsome  black  eyes,  her 
little  snub  nose  and  her  saucy  expression,  must 
often  have  been  followed,  for  men  are  very  fond 
of  saucy  looks  and  enticing  eyes ;  and  wherefore  ? 
Faith,  you  must  ask  them  ;  as  to  me,  I  suspect  the 
reason,  but  I  can  hardly  go  into  it  at  full  length 
in  this  little  story. 

A  great  outcry  has  already  been  made  about  me 
because  I  called  one  of  my  novels  "The  Cuckold." 
As  for  that,  if  I  had  to  name  it  again,  I  can  assure 
you  I  should  give  it  the  same  title,  because  I  am 
not  in  the  habit  of  concerning  myself  with  the 
cavillings  of  the  critics,  who  are  not  the  real  public. 

But  all  this  is  leading  me  from  my  charming 
needlewoman,  to  whom  I  must  now  return.  Adol- 
phine had  the  reputation  of  being  rather  flighty, 

Vol.  XIX 


130    SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

and  some  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  she  had  lov- 
ers, on  the  grounds  that  with  ravishing  eyes,  a 
snub  nose,  and  a  tripping  walk,  it  was  impossible 
for  a  girl  to  be  as  good  as  she  ought. 

This  inference  will  be  very  far  from  pleasing  to 
those  damsels  who  resemble  the  portrait  of  Adol- 
phine  which  I  have  just  drawn;  but  they  may 
reassure  themselves,  for  everybody  knows  that 
appearances  are  deceitful ;  a  young  woman  may  be 
very  well-conducted  though  she  be  very  attractive 
and  is  always  merry  and  laughing,  while  those  who 
have  a  timid,  modest  air  and  always  keep  their 
eyes  cast  down  often  act  very  foolishly.  It  occurs 
to  me  that  I  have  sought  to  prove  this  in  one  of 
my  earlier  works,  which  also  has  a  horrid  title, 
"  la  Pucelle  de  Belleville." 

It  is  true  that,  like  the  one  I  spoke  of  a  short  time 
back,  it  has  a  moral  aim,  while  some  novels  with 
irreproachable  titles  are  very  immoral.  But  I  am 
again  getting  away  from  my  grisette ;  I  will  return 
to  her  and  I  promise  you  I  will  not  wander  again. 

For  some  time  past  a  young  and  handsome 
bachelor  named  Edouard  had  paid  Mademoiselle 
Adolphine  very  assiduous  attentions.  As  Adol- 
phine  loved  to  laugh  and  talk,  he  had  not  found 
much  difficulty  in  making  her  acquaintance.  As 
Edouard  had  means,  and  as  his  dress  and  manners 
were  distinguished,  she  had  been  flattered  by  his 
preference,  and  for  some  time  past  the  young  man 
had  visited  Adolphine  at  her  home. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       131 

When  a  man  obtains  permission  to  call  and  see 
a  grisette  it  is  natural  for  him  to  think  that  he  can 
obtain  other  favors,  and  that  he  may  at  last  arrive 
at  the  consummation  of  his  desires.  This  was 
what  M.  Edouard  had  thought,  and  with  this  idea 
he  had  endeavored  to  evince  his  love  in  the  warm- 
est manner  possible.  But  to  his  great  surprise  he 
was  defeated  in  his  attempt ;  first  of  all  she  had 
laughed  at  his  sighs,  then  she  had  got  angry  when 
he  had  become  audacious  and  had  said  to  him  in 
a  very  positive  manner, — 

"  If  you  wish  me  to  allow  you  to  keep  on  com- 
ing to  see  me,  you  must  behave  properly." 

To  which  Edouard  had  replied, — 

"  Is  there  anything  improper  in  being  in  love? 
Why  are  you  pretty  ?  Why  have  you  turned  my 
head  ?  I  shall  die  if  you  will  not  be  mine."  He 
added  a  thousand  other  similar  phrases  which  or- 
dinarily have  a  good  deal  of  effect  on  women  who 
ask  nothing  better  than  to  yield ;  but  Adolphine 
only  laughed  again  as  she  said, — 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  you  are  in  love  with 
me ;  if  you  do  love  me,  you  will  not  prove  it  by 
acting  as  you  do.  I  shall  give  myself  only  to  the 
man  I  marry,  yes,  monsieur,  to  my  husband.  Does 
that  surprise  you?  —  because  I  like  to  laugh,  be- 
cause I  am  a  little  coquettish  and  don't  lower  my 
eyes  when  people  look  at  me.  However,  that  is 
how  it  is,  though.  As  to  dying  if  I  will  not  be 
yours,  why,  M.  Edouard,  I  don't  like  such  sayings 


i32      SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

any  more  than  I  like  story  books  that  are  full 
of  nothing  but  murders,  corpses  and  suicides  ;  it 
disgusts  me  and  that  is  all ;  I  call  that  the  litera- 
ture of  the  criminal  courts  and,  although  I  am  only 
a  simple  working  girl,  I  think  I  show  some  taste 
by  preferring  scenes  that  are  natural,  cheerful, 
touching  without  being  horrible,  to  those  which 
make  me  shudder  by  day  and  give  me  the  night- 
mare by  night." 

Edouard  was  silent,  but  as  he  wished  to  con- 
tinue to  visit  Adolphine  he  was  obliged  to  promise 
to  be  respectful  and  correct  in  his  behavior ;  but 
men  will  promise  anything,  they  think  it  binds 
them  to  nothing. 

So  Edouard  continued  to  visit  Adolphine;  when 
she  refused  to  kiss  him,  he  sulked ;  and  when  he 
got  very  sulky  Adolphine  made  fun  of  him.  Some- 
times several  days  passed,  during  which  Edouard 
ceased  to  call  on  the  pretty  seamstress,  hoping  to 
be  able  to  forget  her  ;  but  soon  his  love  drew  him 
back  to  her  side.  She  smiled  as  he  approached, 
gave  him  her  hand  in  token  of  friendship,  and 
tapped  him  lightly  when  he  tried  to  kiss  her. 

It  happened  to  be  carnival  time,  the  time  for 
pleasure,  dancing  and  fritters.  All  classes  of  society 
were  amusing  themselves  ;  the  smaller  clerks  gave 
parties,  the  rich  trader  rivalled  the  nobility  in  lux- 
ury, the  bourgeoise  circles  had  their  raffles,  the 
porters  made  pancakes  in  their  lodges,  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  grisettes  went  to  the  bal  masque. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       133 

Edouard  had  several  times  proposed  to  Adol- 
phine  to  let  him  take  her  to  the  ball ;  but  she 
refused,  she  did  not  wish  to  pass  the  night  at  a 
ball  with  Edouard  nor  did  she  care  to  come  home 
alone  at  night  with  a  man  whom  she  had  so  much 
difficulty  in  reducing  to  order  in  the  daytime. 
Edouard,  vexed  at  Adolphine's  refusal,  went  to 
the  ball  without  her  and  came  less  often  to  see  her. 

Adolphine  in  the  depths  of  her  heart  suffered, 
fearing  she  should  lose  Edouard's  love ;  for  a 
turned-up  nose  does  not  prevent  one  from  being 
sensitive,  and  a  saucy  expression  sometimes  hides 
a  very  loving  heart. 

One  fine  evening  several  of  Adolphine's  girl 
friends  were  with  her ;  these  young  ladies  were 
working  a  little  and  talking  a  great  deal. 

"  Everybody's  giving  balls,"  said  big  Sophie, 
"it's  all  the  rage.  There's  a  polisher  in  my  house 
who  gave  a  fancy-dress  ball,  and  they  say  it  was 
very  pretty.  There  were  Spaniards  and  Turks 
and  shepherds  and  Robert  Macaires,  it  seems 
everything  was  done  in  great  style." 

"I'm  invited,"  said  a  little  flower-maker,  "I've 
been  invited  to  go  to  a  rout  at  a  chair-turner's. 
They  are  to  have  supper,  to  go  masked  or  un- 
masked, to  have  some  punch  and  ices,  card  tables 
and  parlor  games,  they'll  dance  galops  and  eat 
warm  cakes." 

"In  all  the  houses  where  I  go  to  carry  work 
home  I  see  preparations  for  balls  and  festivities." 


134     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"Yes,  even  my  neighbor,  who  is  a  charwoman 
in  apartment  houses,  gave  a  party  one  night  where 
they  drank  as  much  beer  as  they  wanted  and  ate 
sausages  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"  And  my  portress  bakes  puff-paste  tarts  in  a 
stove  in  her  lodge ;  and  her  husband  puts  lard  on 
his  queue  and  looks  comical  enough,  as  you  can 
imagine." 

"In  fact,  everybody  in  Paris  is  giving  parties 
or  balls." 

"Well,  girls,  why  shouldn't  we  do  as  everybody 
else  does  ? " 

"  We  ?  We  give  a  ball  ?  "  said  the  grisettes  in 
a  chorus. 

"  Certainly,  if  you  like  !  " 

"  Oh,  we  should  like  it  well  enough,  but  how 
can  we  do  it  ?  " 

"  Listen  to  me.  As  to  the  place,  I  offer  mine ; 
I  have  a  great,  big  room  and  when  we  have  taken 
the  furniture  out  it  will  be  still  larger ;  and  then 
I  have  two  small  rooms  which  will  serve  as  dress- 
ing-room and  dining-room." 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"  And  then  —  oh,  there  will  be  some  expense 
for  lights  and  refreshments  and  supper  —  for  we 
must  have  some  supper,  mustn't  we  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  As  for  me,  I  only  go  to  a  dance  to  eat,"  said 
big  Sophie. 

"  Well,  then,  girls,  let  us  club  together  and  if, 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       135 

as  I  hope,  you  have  confidence  in  me,  I  will  attend 
to  all  the  details." 

"  Approved  !  Let  us  club  together." 
All  the  young  girls  felt  in  their  pockets,  which 
resulted  in  their  gathering  together  the  sum  of 
twenty-three  francs ;  but  with  that  they  were  sure 
of  having  as  much  more  from  the  young  girls  they 
knew — fifty  francs  was  what  they  considered  neces- 
sary, for  the  grisettes  did  not  want  their  sweet- 
hearts to  pay;  it  was  their  treat,  a  ball  which  they 
wished  to  give,  themselves. 

Adolphine  was  well  aware  that  she  could  not 
give  ices  with  fifty  francs  ;  but  she  promised  a 
violin,  a  flageolet,  cider  and  chestnuts  during  the 
evening,  and  a  very  satisfactory  supper  in  the 
middle  of  the  night.  Everything  decided,  they 
fixed  the  day  and  even  thought  of  the  invitation 
notes.  A  young  fringe-maker,  who  wielded  her 
pen  well,  placed  herself  at  a  table  and  wrote  what 
Adolphine  dictated  to  her. 

You  are  invited  to  come  to  dance  and  to  spend  the  evening 
and  the  whole  of  the  night  at  Mademoiselle  Adolphine's  next 
Saturday  ;  there  will  be  supper  and  a  violin. 

I  have  the  honor  to  remain, 

Yours,  etc. 

"  Will  that  do,  girls  ? " 

"  Very  well  indeed." 

"  Oh,  wait !   Foedora,  write  by  '  post  scriptum.' " 

"  By  post,  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ? " 

"  Write  some  more  ;  put  it  below  the  signature. 


136     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

c  Those  who  have  not  arrived  by  nine  o'clock  will 
not  dance  the  galop.' ' 

"  Oh,  that's  good !  That's  the  only  way  to 
force  those  gentlemen  to  come  early." 

"  Now,  Foedora,  write  as  many  notes  as  we  have 
invitations  to  give,  and  then  I  shall  have  nothing 
to  do  but  sign  them.  Now,  girls,  name  the  per- 
sons you  want  invited." 

Each  damsel  gave  the  name  of  her  swain.  In 
short  the  list  of  invitations  was  soon  written  ;  the 
girls  now  had  only  to  think  of  the  costumes  they 
should  make  for  the  ball.  This  was  the  subject 
of  conversation  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening; 
at  length  the  grisettes  parted,  delighted  at  the 
thought  of  the  pleasure  they  expected  on  the  fol- 
lowing Saturday. 

Adolphine  had  not  failed  to  write  an  invitation 
and  send  it  to  M.  Edouard,  then  she  thought  of 
nothing  else  but  how  she  could  make  her  party 
successful.  Her  friends  had  given  her  later  the 
sum  of  thirty  francs,  which  with  the  twenty-three 
francs  she  had  already  received,  placed  the  sum  of 
fifty-three  francs  at  her  disposal ;  for  her  part  she 
was  willing  to  add  fifteen  francs,  if  necessary,  in 
order  that  nothing  might  be  lacking  at  her  ball. 

The  young  girl  made  her  calculations.  She 
must  have  two  lanterns  for  the  staircase,  then  for 
the  room  it  was  necessary  that  she  should  hire  four 
lamps;  for  a  ball,  to  be  cheerful,  must  be  well- 
lighted.  Then  Adolphine  made  out  a  menu  for 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       137 

the  supper,  she  must  have  some  substantial  dishes, 
a  fowl  and  a  pasty  for  the  men  and  some  dainties 
for  the  women;  for  she  wished  to  suit  all  tastes. 

After  reflecting  for  some  time,  the  young  seam- 
stress made  the  following  list  of  expenses  for  her 
ball,— 

Fr.     Sous. 

Two  lanterns 10 

Hire  of  four  Argand  lamps  and  oil  to  feed  them  7          I  o 

Candles  in  the  small  rooms 10 

Sugar,  cider,  chestnuts,  cracknels     ....  8         oo 

Pasty,  fowl,  sausages 16         oo 

Violin 6         oo 

Pastry  and  sweets .  9         oo 

Wine  and  coffee 15         oo 


62         10 

Thus,  for  the  trifling  sum  of  sixty-two  francs, 
ten  sous  (grisettes  will  never  reckon  by  centimes), 
Adolphine  hoped  to  give  a  charming  ball.  Up  to 
Saturday  the  young  girl  was  employed  on  her 
gown,  she  was  going  to  have  a  little  Swiss  peasant's 
costume ;  she  made  it  herself,  she  tried  it  on  and 
thought  to  herself,  "  We  shall  see  what  effect  it 
will  have  on  M.  Edouard  to  see  me  in  that." 

At  length  the  great  day  arrived,  the  preparations 
must  be  made,  the  lamps  hired  ;  but  first  she  must 
make  sure  of  some  one  to  play  the  violin.  Adol- 
phine went  to  the  dwelling  of  one  who  had  been 
recommended  to  her,  and  found  it  was  in  a  very 
poor  house  in  the  Rue  des  Gravilliers.  Adolphine 


138     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

went  into  an  alleyway ;  she  looked  around  for  a 
porter,  but  there  was  none  ;  she  went  up  one  flight 
of  stairs,  then  another,  saying  to  herself, — 

"  A  violinist  who  plays  at  balls  wouldn't  live  on 
the  first  floor,  especially  a  poor  violinist  who  only 
asks  six  francs  a  night,  and  furnishes  a  flageolet." 

Adolphine  decided  to  knock  at  the  third  floor, 
because  she  heard  music  through  the  door.  A 
young  man  holding  a  lamp  in  one  hand  came  to 
open  the  door  himself;  but  he  was  a  music-teacher, 
and  inside  the  room  she  could  see  several  stylish 
young  people,  each  of  them  holding  an  instrument. 

The  grisette  feared  she  was  mistaken  and 
stammered, — 

"  I  should  like  to  speak  to  M.  Dupont." 

"Who  is  M.  Dupont?  I  don't  know  him, 
mademoiselle." 

"  Why,  monsieur,  he  is  a  musician,  a  man  who 
plays  dance  music  on  the  violin  at  balls." 

"  Oh,  wait  a  bit,  mademoiselle.  I  think  in  fact 
we  have  an  Orpheus — a  poor  musician,  in  the 
house.  I  am  not  yet  acquainted  with  my  neigh- 
bors, but  if  you  would  want  him  I'm  afraid  you'll 
find  him  quite  at  the  top." 

Adolphine  bowed  graciously  and  hurried  up  the 
stairs,  she  stopped  on  the  sixth  floor  and  listened 
for  the  sound  of  a  violin,  but  she  heard  no  music; 
on  the  contrary,  she  thought  she  distinguished 
sighs  and  sobs.  However,  she  decided  to  knock 
at  a  door  in  front  of  which  she  was  standing. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       139 

Some  one  opened  it,  and  what  a  painful  scene 
met  her  eyes.  In  a  half-furnished  room  a  sick  man 
lay  on  a  miserable  bed ;  beside  him  was  a  weeping 
woman  and  two  children,  a  boy  of  eight  and  a  lit- 
tle girl  who  could  hardly  have  attained  the  age  of 
five ;  yet  both  of  them  were  already  pale  and  sor- 
rowful sharers  of  their  parents'  troubles. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Adolphine,  "no doubt  I  have 
made  a  mistake  again,  I  want  M.  Dupont,  a  vio- 
linist who  plays  for  balls." 

"This  is  the  place,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  per- 
son who  was  in  the  bed,  in  a  feeble  voice.  "  I  am 
Dupont.  Do  you  need  my  services  ?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur;  it  was  for  a  little  ball  this  even- 
ing at  my  place.  My  name  is  Adolphine,  a  seam- 
stress, Rue  aux  Ours.  But  if  you  are  sick — " 

"  Oh,  yes,  mademoiselle,"  answered  the  young 
woman,  "  my  husband  is  very  sick,  he  has  over- 
worked himself  in  trying  to  earn  money  for  us  all. 
We  have  had  our  poor  father  bedridden  for  a  long 
time  —  then  my  little  girl  —  in  fact  we  have  been 
very  unfortunate  for  some  time  past  —  and  now 
here  is  my  husband  — " 

"  It's  worry  that  makes  father  ill,"  said  the  lit- 
tle boy, "  it  is  because  they  will  sell  our  furniture 
tomorrow  if  we  don't  pay  the  landlord." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Jules,  hold  your  tongue," 
said  the  young  woman, "  you  must  not  tell  such 
things  as  those." 

"  Poor  people  !  "  said  Adolphine,  greatly  moved 


140     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

by  this  scene  of  distress.  "  Can  any  one  be  bar- 
barous enough  to  sell  your  effects  ?  Oh,  some 
landlords  are  very  cruel,  very  hardhearted.  Do 
you  owe  him  so  much?" 

"  Eighty  francs,"  answered  the  young  woman, 
"and  my  poor  husband  is  heartbroken,  because 
he  has  not  the  strength  to  go  to  work  and  earn 
that  amount." 

"And  I,"  added  the  little  boy,  "don't  play  the 
flageolet  well  enough  yet  to  play  without  papa's 
accompaniment." 

Adolphine  reflected,  but  she  said  nothing.  Sud- 
denly she  left  the  room,  exclaiming,  "I'll  be  back ! " 
She  ran  home,  got  the  sixty-two  francs  fifty  cen- 
times destined  for  the  ball,  and  with  what  money 
she  possessed  made  up  the  eighty  francs  ;  then  she 
flew  to  the  Rue  des  Gravilliers,  went  up  the  six 
flights  of  stairs  without  stopping  to  take  breath, 
went  into  the  poor  violinist's,  placed  the  money 
on  a  table  beside  the  bed  saying, — 

"There!  take  that  and  pay  your  landlord;  don't 
worry  any  more  and  you  will  get  well.  We  others 
can  dance  without  music  and  enjoy  ourselves  with- 
out supper." 

The  poor  family  did  not  know  how  to  express 
their  gratitude.  Adolphine  kissed  the  two  chil- 
dren and  escaped,  saying, — 

"  Good-by,  I'll  come  and  see  you  again." 

The  grisette  went  back  home,  her  heart  satisfied 
and  as  light  as  a  bird.  For  the  first  few  moments 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       141 

she  thought  only  of  the  poor  people  she  had  helped. 
But  at  length  she  remembered  the  ball  that  she 
was  to  give  that  evening ;  then  she  began  to  laugh 
and  said  to  herself, — 

"  Those  who  go  without  their  dinner  so  as  to 
eat  more  supper  will  run  a  great  risk  of  being  faint 
at  their  stomachs.  All  the  same  I  shall  still  put 
on  my  Swiss  costume,  it  won't  cost  me  any  more." 

Adolphine  dressed  herself,  got  her  room  ready 
for  the  evening  and  awaited  her  company  with  a  sin- 
gle lighted  candle,  which  she  placed  on  the  man- 
telpiece. It  hardly  gave  any  light  at  all  in  the  big 
room,  but  Adolphine  had  not  one  sou  to  her  name, 
this  was  her  last  candle,  and  she  did  not  buy  on 
credit. 

Half-past  seven  came.  Adolphine's  girl  friends 
arrived  promptly,  and  she  heard  them  shouting  on 
the  staircase, — 

"  Adolphine,  why  don't  you  show  us  a  light  ? 
It's  us.  Why  haven't  you  got  your  lanterns  lighted 
yet?  It  is  very  disagreeable  when  one  is  in  ball 
dress  to  have  to  grope  one's  way  up  four  flights 
of  stairs." 

Adolphine  appeared  with  her  lighted  candle. 
The  young  girls  when  they  came  into  her  room 
exclaimed  again, — 

"Good  heavens!  how  dark  it  is  here!  why  aren't 
your  lamps  in  their  places  and  lighted  ?  What  are 
you  thinking  of  to  leave  us  in  the  dark  like  this?" 

To  all  this  Adolphine  answered  with  a  smile, — 


i4a     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  Have  a  little  patience,  they  are  going  to  bring 
lamps  and  lanterns." 

The  young  men  invited  by  these  damsels  speed- 
ily arrived  and  were  not  a  little  surprised  to  see 
the  ball-room  lighted  by  a  solitary  candle,  while  the 
grisettes  became  impatient  and  kept  saying, — 

"Why,  Adolphine,  when  are  they  going  to  bring 
your  lamps  ? " 

"  And  the  music,  where  is  that  ?  " 

"Oh,  it  will  come,"  answered  Adolphine.  "And 
while  we  are  waiting  for  it,  girls,  we  can  dance  some 
round  dances." 

"  We  don't  give  a  ball  to  dance  round  dances," 
said  the  grisettes.  "What  will  these  gentlemen 
think  of  us  ? " 

The  young  gentlemen  said  nothing,  but  they 
laughed  mockingly.  Edouard  watched  Adolphine 
closely,  but  said  nothing;  the  gentle  seamstress 
was  growing  very  much  embarrassed  ;  several  of 
the  damsels  had  already  asked  for  refreshments 
and  she  had  had  to  say  to  them, — 

"The  refreshments  haven't  come." 

In  fact,  as  the  lights,  the  music  and  the  refresh- 
ments did  not  come,  the  grisettes  lost  patience  and 
fat  Sophie  said  to  Adolphine, — 

"  My  dearest,  you  had  charge  of  the  ball  —  and 
you  have  done  nothing  at  all.  What  does  it  mean  ? 
What  have  you  done  with  our  collection  ?  " 

Adolphine  reddened,  hesitated  and  at  length 
answered, — 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      143 

"  Mesdemoiselles,  I  dare  not  tell  you.  Well, 
I  lost  my  bag  in  which  I  had  all  my  money  and 
that  is  why  I  could  provide  nothing  for  our  ball." 

The  young  girls  seemed  overwhelmed  with  con- 
sternation, the  young  men  laughed ;  Edouard 
consoled  Adolphine,  and  reproached  her  for  not 
calling  on  him  for  aid.  However,  whisperings  and 
vexation  had  replaced  cheerfulness  and  merriment ! 
some  of  these  damsels  even  appeared  to  be  in 
doubt  as  to  the  loss  of  the  bag,  and  Adolphine 
was  getting  angry,  when  some  one  knocked  at  the 
door. 

It  was  five  well-dressed  young  men,  each  hold- 
ing an  instrument :  violins,  'cello,  flageolet,  suffi- 
cient to  compose  a  delightful  orchestra. 

"  O  Adolphine,  you  were  making  fun  of  us  ! " 
cried  the  young  girls,  "  here  is  our  music,  and  I 
imagine  it  will  be  first-class." 

"Why,  no,  I  told  the  truth,"  said  Adolphine. 

"  Gentlemen,  you  are  no  doubt  mistaken  as  to  the 

i       » 
place. 

"  No,  mademoiselle,"  answered  a  young  man, 
whom  Adolphine  recognized  as  the  one  who  lived 
in  the  same  house  as  the  poor  people  she  had  suc- 
cored. "  We  came,  my  friends  and  I,  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  playing  for  you  to  dance  in  place  of 
my  neighbor,  this  poor  Dupont,  who  is  ill  in  bed 
and  to  whom  you  so  generously  gave  all  the  money 
with  which  you  were  to  have  paid  the  expenses  of 
your  ball.  It  was  through  his  son  that  we  learned 


144     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

of  your  good  action,  and  we  hope  you  will  allow 
us  to  act  as  your  orchestra  throughout  the  whole 
night." 

These  words  disclosed  the  truth ;  they  sur- 
rounded Adolphine,  they  hugged  her,  they  kissed 
her  ;  those  who  had  scolded  her  asked  her  pardon 
with  tears  in  their  eyes ;  the  enthusiasm  and  joy 
were  shared  by  all.  In  one  moment  the  young 
men  had  run  out  in  search  of  lamps  and  candles ; 
the  ballroom  was  brilliantly  lighted ;  then  the 
waiters,  pastry-cooks  and  lemonade  dealers  arrived 
with  the  supper,  for  Edouard  had  taken  it  upon 
himself  to  provide  that,  and  when  Adolphine  ob- 
jected to  this  he  answered  her  tenderly, — 

"  It  will  be  our  betrothal  banquet." 

A    PARISIAN    HOUSE 

IF  you  would  like  to  know  anything  about  the 
inside  of  a  house,  to  know  the  names  of  the 
persons  who  reside  in  it,  their  occupations,  their 
habits  and  their  fortunes,  you  need  not  have  an 
Asmodeus  at  your  orders ;  it  will  be  quite  suffi- 
cient to  talk  for  a  few  moments  to  the  porter. 

I  was  desirous  some  time  ago  of  renting  an 
apartment  in  a  very  respectable-looking,  handsome 
house;  the  porter  did  not  give  me  time  to  ask  for 
information. 

"  Our  house,"  said  he,  "  is  tenanted  by  the  best 
of  people  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  ;  this  shop, 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       145 

which  occupies  the  whole  fa9ade,  is  occupied  by  a 
provision  dealer.  Ah,  monsieur,  there  is  a  man 
who  understands  his  business ;  he  has  deer  and 
hares  at  his  door  throughout  the  year,  as  well  as 
pheasants  and  pates  de  Perigord  that  make  the 
mouth  water,  and  then  all  the  passers-by  stop  in 
front  of  our  house  to  admire.  I  have  even  seen 
an  old  gentleman  who  never  fails  to  come  in  the 
morning  to  eat  his  penny  roll  in  front  of  the  shop 
when  the  smell  of  truffles  from  it  scents  all  the 
neighborhood.  This  merchant  will  make  his  for- 
tune, although  the  neighbors  opposite  assert  that 
the  same  deer  has  been  hanging  in  front  of  the 
shop  for  the  past  six  months.  Foreign  goods 
come  to  him  in  great  abundance,  and  he  has  just 
married  a  young  girl  who  brought  as  her  dowry 
twelve  hundred  barrels  of  deep  sea  tunny. 

"The  entresol  is  let  to  a  woman,  an  artist;  she 
is  a  very  distinguished  personage,  who  receives  no- 
body but  gentlemen  in  carriages,  English  lords, 
Russians  or  Italians.  I  can't  tell  you  whether  she 
is  a  singer  or  a  dancer ;  but  she  must  be  one  or 
the  other,  for  I  always  hear  them  singing,  and  she 
always  walks  on  the  tips  of  her  toes.  Then  she  is 
very  decent  in  her  behavior  and  dresses  very  ele- 
gantly in  cashmeres  and  diamonds,  and  pays  her 
rent  very  promptly. 

"  On  the  first  floor  we  have  a  bill-broker  or  busi- 
ness man,  I  can't  say  which;  but  he's  one  of  those 
men  who  receive  a  great  many  people  and  make 

Vol.  XIX 


146     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

a  great  spread.  He  has  spent  a  good  deal  in 
painting,  papering,  wainscoting  and  repairs — they 
say,  between  ourselves,  that  he  hasn't  paid  for  them 
yet.  However,  he  often  gives  parties,  concerts, 
balls,  where  they  serve  punch  and  play  cards  like 
the  deuce.  Sometimes  they  stay  late  into  the 
night;  but  I  can't  complain,  for  they  give  me  the 
old  cards  and  I  sell  them  to  a  tobacconist  who 
makes  them  as  good  as  new,  and  they  are  infinitely 
kind  to  me.  They  are  persons  whom  I  esteem 
very  highly  and  whom  I  intend  to  keep. 

"On  the  second  floor  lodges  a  tailor  who  keeps 
a  cab,  and  never  goes  afoot  to  measure  a  customer. 
He  has  only  been  in  business  three  years  and  he 
has  already  bought  a  fine  house  in  the  outskirts 
of  Paris.  It  seems  that  this  man  cuts  out  by  the 
wholesale  and  that  he  makes  a  very  good  fit.  He 
tells  me  that  in  five  years  he  will  have  done  enough 
to  retire  with  fifteen  thousand  livres  income.  Just 
see  that,  monsieur !  and  here  for  thirty-two  years 
have  I  been  opening  and  shutting  a  door,  and  I 
haven't  been  able  to  lay  aside  ten  crowns. 

"  On  the  third  floor  we  have  a  household  with 
two  children  and  a  dog.  The  husband  is  a  gov- 
ernment clerk  about  forty  years  old.  I  have  never 
seen  him  go  out  with  his  wife,  though  she  is  still 
very  good-looking.  He  starts  out  in  the  morn- 
ing, comes  back  to  dinner,  then  goes  out  immedi- 
ately after  his  coffee,  and  doesn't  come  in  till 
midnight.  Every  day  the  same  thing.  It  is  true 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       147 

madame  receives  visitors  —  among  others  a  fair 
young  man.  I  don't  know  if  he  is  a  friend  of  the 
husband's,  but  this  is  sure,  he  comes  every  evening 
when  the  master  of  the  house  has  gone  out  and 
leaves  half  an  hour  before  the  latter  comes  in. 
But  of  course  the  little  woman  must  have  some 
distraction.  And  then  the  maid  says  when  she  is 
with  her  husband  they  do  nothing  but  dispute. 
Why,  I  ask  myself,  do  such  men  as  those  marry  ? 

"On  the  fourth  floor  we  have  a  dancing-master 
who  gives  little  carpet  dances  every  week  in  his 
room,  but  only  to  his  pupils ;  it  is  true  they  are 
allowed  to  bring  their  friends,  who  can  also  bring 
their  acquaintances.  But  as  for  that  it  is  quite 
respectable,  bourgeoise.  My  wife  furnishes  the 
refreshments ;  beer  and  water,  to  prevent  hemor- 
rhages of  the  lungs.  The  dancing-master  himself 
furnishes  the  music  all  alone,  but  he  makes  as 
much  noise  as  ten  musicians,  and  he  always  plays 
near  an  open  window  so  as  to  be  heard  in  the 
street.  The  young  ladies  don't  waltz  without  their 
mothers'  express  permission. 

"On  the  fifth  floor,  which  is  the  attic,  you  know, 
one  can't  look  for  stylish  people.  We  have  there 
at  the  present  an  old  woman  and  her  two  daugh- 
ters—  they  are  small  fry.  The  mother  is  infirm; 
the  daughters  are,  I  believe,  sewing  girls ;  they 
work  all  day  and  sometimes  even  far  into  the  night 
—  about  which  I  must  carry  a  complaint  to  the 
landlord  because  some  fine  night  they  may  set  us 


148     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

all  on  fire.  Besides,  they  are  two  terms  behind 
with  their  rent,  and  as  you  may  suppose  we  shall 
have  to  put  them  out,  because  in  a  house  such  as 
this  one  can  have  none  but  respectable  people." 

The  porter  had  done  ;  I  departed,  casting  a  sad 
glance  at  the  attic  floor;  for  it  was  there  only  that 
I  perceived  "respectable"  people.  But  they  were 
going  to  put  out  two  poor  young  girls  who  worked 
the  greater  part  of  the  night  to  support  their 
mother ! 


THE  ARTIFICIAL   FLOWER-MAKERS' 
WORKSHOP 

LET  us  go  into  this  workshop,  where  I  see  there 
are  only  women  ;  they  are  almost  all  young, 
and  some  of  them  are  very  pretty.  Leaning  over 
these  long  tables  heaped  with  cambric,  colors,  glue, 
pincers,  wire,  cut-out  leaves,  these  damsels  are  mak- 
ing flowers.  How  skilful  they  are!  how  quick,  how 
dexterous,  what  taste  they  display  in  their  work. 
The  flowers  which  grow  under  their  fingers  as  if 
by  enchantment  might,  if  they  had  but  the  scent,  vie 
for  freshness  and  beauty  with  those  of  our  gardens. 

But  while  working  these  young  women  talk ;  the 
conversation  never  languishes,  sometimes  there 
is  a  babel  of  tongues.  It  seems  that  women  can 
easily  do  two  things  at  once,  for  while  they  are 
chatting  the  flowers  continue  to  grow  under  their 
hands. 

"  What  fun  I  had  last  evening,"  said  a  pretty 
dark  girl,  with  a  rose-leaf  skin  and  lively  eyes. 

"  What  did  you  do,  Fanny  ?  " 

"  I  went  to  the  circus,  with  my  cousin,  you 
know." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  the  dark  young  fellow  who  was  wait- 
ing for  you  the  other  evening  in  the  passageway." 

"  Exactly  so." 

"  He  is  nice,  it  is  a  pity  he  squints  a  little." 

"  No,  mademoiselle,  he  doesn't  squint." 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear,  I'm  very  sure  of  it,  for  he 


150     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

looked  very  hard  at  me  as  I  passed  by  him  —  Lise, 
give  me  the  glue." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  he  c  looked  very  hard 
at  you,'  but  I  do  know  that  he  does  not  squint. 
Do  you  want  to  make  out  that  you  know  better 
than  I  do  ?  That's  a  little  too  much  ! " 

"  Don't  be  uneasy,  I  don't  want  to  take  him 
away  from  you,  but  he  does  squint ;  wait,  Louise 
was  with  me,  she  can  say.  Didn't  he  squint, 
Louise  ? " 

"  I  should  think  so,  indeed  ;  one  of  his  eyes  is 
blue  and  the  other  gray.  Pass  me  the  hyacinth 
petals." 

"  You  are  great  story-tellers ;  and  how  could 
you  have  seen  the  color  of  his  eyes  in  the  passage- 
way, where  one  can't  see  anything." 

"  Yes,  that's  true,"  said  the  other  young  girls, 
"  that  is  impossible." 

"  Oh,  how  malicious  those  girls  are !  Louise 
ought  to  be  ashamed;  she  who  has  no  one  to  walk 
with  her  but  her  old  fellow,  who  always  looks  as  if 
he  was  frozen.  The  scissors,  if  you  please." 

"  Old  fellow,  indeed !  Is  a  man  old  at  fifty- 
three  ?  It's  the  prime  of  life,  girls  !  " 

"  Ha,  ha !  a  pretty  prime !  Who's  got  the 
pincers  ? " 

"  Besides,  there  are  a  great  many  young  men 
who  are  not  half  so  good ;  and  then  I  don't  like 
men  unless  they  are  of  the  very  best  class !  " 

"  Why,  does  he  belong  to  the  very  best  class  ? 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       151 

I  have  my  doubts  as  to  that ;  I  should  take  him 
for  an  old  weaver ;  the  rim  of  his  hat  is  always 
broken." 

"  Oh,  what  a  calumny.  It's  all  very  well  for 
your  squint-eyed  cousin  to  wear  bad  hats  or  more 
often  caps." 

"  Mademoiselle  Louise,  I  beg  of  you  not  to 
make  insulting  remarks  about  my  cousin,  or  I  shall 
complain  to  madame." 

"  Well,  I  declare !  Do  you  think  I'm  afraid 
you'll  get  me  scolded  ?  (Low)  Hum  !  how  mali- 
cious that  girl  is." 

"  Hum !  what  a  bad  tongue." 

"  I  shall  have  to  leave  here  because  of  her ;  I 
can't  bear  the  sight  of  her !  I  detest  her ! " 

"  Come,  peace  now,  girls,"  said  a  flower-maker 
who  was  rather  older  than  the  rest.  "  Instead  of 
quarrelling,  you  had  better  hurry  yourselves;  they 
are  waiting  for  these  ball  wreaths." 

"  Goodness,  they  will  be  made." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Amelie  ?  You 
are  not  saying  anything." 

"  Oh,  she  is  thinking  of  her  new  acquaintance." 

"  Wait,  you  don't  know  about  him.  Oh,  he  is 
handsome,  tall,  smartly  dressed,  an  English  lord, 
or  a  Russian  from  Moscow;  is  he  not,  Amelie?" 

"  Oh,  you  may  pretend  to  make  fun  of  me,  girls, 
but  that  young  man  there  —  Some  moss,  if  you 
please.  The  young  man  has  a  good  position,  he  is  a 
clerk  at  least.  Heavens !  you  should  see  his  style. 


152     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

I  went  out  with  him  last  Tuesday,  he  had  on  a 
cloak—" 

"  A  cloak,  the  deuce  !  this  is  getting  serious  !  " 

"  And  how  were  you  dressed  ?  " 

"  I  wore  my  merino  frock.  Tuesday  he  took 
me  to  dine  at  a  restaurant." 

"  Heavens,  how  fortunate  she  is  !  Some  leaves, 
girls." 

"  Were  you  in  a  private  room  ? " 

"  He  wanted  to  be  —  but  I  wouldn't  consent  to 
that,  and  so  he  had  to  go  into  the  public  dining- 
room." 

"And  in  the  evening,  where  did  you  go?" 

"  Why,  my  dear,  he  took  me  to  the  play  —  to 
a  place,  wait  till  I  think  of  the  name — it  was  fine; 
it  was  at  the  —  oh,  at  the  Bouffes." 

"  What  do  you  mean  with  your  Bouffes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  where  they  only  talk  Latin  and  always  to 
music." 

"  Oh,  it  was  the  Bouffa,  you  meant." 

"Yes,  that's  it,  the  Bouffa.  Oh,  they  play 
pretty  comedies  there." 

"It  must  be  very  amusing  when  you  don't  un- 
derstand anything  they  say." 

"  Well,  all  the  same,  it  is  very  amusing.  But 
for  all  that  we  came  out  before  it  was  done,  because 
I  was  beginning  to  go  to  sleep,  and  then  we  took 
a  cab  home  —  because  I  was  tired  of  sitting  there." 

"  Oh,  you  took  a  cab.  Here,  my  rose  is 
finished,'* 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       153 

"  It  is  eight  o'clock,  young  ladies." 

"  Eight  o'clock  ?  Let  us  make  haste,  some  one 
is  waiting  for  me  at  Saint-Martin  Square." 

"  And  for  me  in  front  of  the  Gymnase." 

"  And  for  me  by  the  Ambigu." 

All  the  girls  hastily  took  their  shawls,  their  bags, 
their  bonnets,  and  repaired  whither  their  business 
called  them.  In  one  minute  the  tables  were  tidied, 
the  workshop  was  deserted,  and  silence  replaced 
the  noise  that  had  been  going  on  since  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning. 

THE  CHRISTENING 

WELL,  neighbor,  have  you  heard  the  news?" 
"  What  news,  my  dear  neighbor  ?  " 

"  Madame  Roquet's  baby  was  born  yesterday." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  Poor  Madame  Roquet — 
she  was  very  disagreeable  all  along." 

"  I  don't  think  she'll  be  any  better  now." 

"  Is  it  a  girl  or  a  boy  ?  I  had  betted  on  a  boy 
with  M.  Melange,  the  wine  merchant  opposite." 

"  You've  won,  neighbor ;  it's  a  little  boy  and 
he  already  looks  like  that  little  head-clerk  who  so 
often  gives  Madame  Roquet  tickets  to  the  Gaite." 

"  Good,  I  know  whom  you  mean,  I  remember 
perfectly." 

"  But  I  must  leave  you,  neighbor,  I  am  going 
to  the  christening,  and  I  haven't  any  too  much 
time  to  make  my  toilet." 


154     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  You'll  give  me  some  sugarplums  and  tell  me 
all  that  passes,  for  I  don't  visit  Madame  Roquet 
since  she  let  a  beautiful  cat  that  I'd  given  to  her 
get  lost." 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  will,  my  dear  neighbor." 

While  the  two  women  were  having  this  conver- 
sation everything  was  upside  down  at  M.  Roquet's, 
wholesale  grocer  of  the  Rue  Saint-Antoine,  whose 
wife,  as  you  have  just  learned,  had  brought  a  little 
boy  into  the  world. 

The  nurse  was  holding  the  baby,  the  mamma 
was  extended  gracefully  on  her  couch;  the  monthly 
nurse  was  coming  and  going,  ferreting  in  every 
corner,  making  a  good  deal  of  fuss  about  a  very 
little  thing  and  in  the  midst  of  it  all  not  forgetting 
to  take  her  breakfast,  slipping  five  pieces  of  sugar 
into  her  coffee,  while  she  kept  asserting  that  she 
had  not  the  slightest  appetite.  The  servants  were 
all  upset,  and  the  papa  put  the  finishing  touch  to 
the  disorder  in  the  house  by  running  about  like  a 
madman  and  shouting  to  whoever  cared  to  hear, — 

"  I  am  a  father  !  He's  my  boy,  my  son.  He's 
like  me,  he  will  be  a  fine  man !  the  picture  of  me 
—  he's  as  big  as  an  ox  already  !  I  want  to  make 
a  great  man  of  him  !  I  shall  put  him  into  an 
apothecary's  laboratory  and  into  the  National 
Guard.  By  the  way,  my  dear  wife,  what  are  we 
going  to  call  this  young  man  ?  Roquet,  first  of  all, 
because  that  is  my  name.  What  a  pretty  little 
Roquet  he  will  make.  But  what  else?" 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      155 

"  My  dearest,"  said  the  mamma,  faintly,  "  you 
know  it  is  the  godfather  who  must  name  him." 

"That's  right;  what  is  the  godfather's  name?" 

"  Edouard,  my  dear." 

"Yes,  that's  true,  Edouard,  that  is  a  nice  enough 
name ;  however,  I  should  have  preferred  a  more 
sonorous  name,  more  —  in  fact  —  I  remember  a 
magnificent  one  from  a  melodrama,  where  they  had 
robbers — just  wait  a  bit —  Ferouski  —  Ferouski 
Roquet,  that's  what  I  want  to  have  him  called." 

"  But,  my  dear,  your  Ferouski  is  a  Polish  name, 
or  Cossack ;  it  sounds  ill  to  my  ears." 

"  I  assure  you,  madame,  that  it  will  be  a  very 
distinguished  name,  and  when  my  son  is  established 
as  an  apothecary  and  puts  over  his  shop  door: 
'  Ferouski's  Pharmacy,'  that  will  necessarily  bring 
him  very  distinguished  customers." 

But  a  carriage  stopped  in  front  of  the  house.  It 
was  the  godfather,  the  young  head-clerk  in  full 
dress,  holding  under  his  arm  a  pile  of  boxes  of 
sugarplums  and  giving  his  other  hand  to  the  god- 
mother, who  carried  the  customary  huge  bouquet. 
They  kissed  each  other  and  the  gifts  were  presented. 

"Oh,  M.  Edouard!  how  foolish  of  you,"  said 
the  mamma  on  receiving  the  boxes  of  sugarplums, 
while  M.  Roquet  said  to  the  young  man,  in  a 
penetrating  voice,  as  he  squeezed  his  hand, — 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  shall  not  forget  that  you 
are  my  son's  godfather,  and  from  this  time  out 
everything  is  in  common  between  us." 


156     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

Everybody  admired  the  baby  ;  M.  Roquet 
bowed  every  time  they  said  anew  that  the  new- 
comer would  be  charming.  At  last  they  started 
for  the  Mairie ;  but  the  carriage  was  full  before 
M.  Roquet  was  ready;  he  followed  it  at  a  distance 
on  foot,  and  along  the  road  exclaimed,  rubbing 
his  hands, — 

"  It's  a  christening !  It's  my  son,  Ferouski 
Edouard  Roquet,  whom  we  are  going  to  christen." 

After  the  usual  ceremonies  had  been  performed 
they  returned  to  the  paternal  house,  where  a  grand 
feast  had  been  prepared.  They  sat  down  to  the 
table;  they  drank,  laughed,  sang  even,  but  with 
lowered  voices  so  as  not  to  do  harm  to  the  mamma ; 
and  at  the  close  of  the  day,  M.  Roquet  was  so 
pleased,  so  gloriously  delighted,  that  he  ex- 
claimed,— 

"  If  I  were  a  millionnaire  I  should  like  my  wife 
to  present  me  with  a  child  every  month." 

REVIEWING  LOVE  LETTERS 

ONE  is  often  delighted  to  find,  in  an  idle  mo- 
ment, something  that  will  drive  away  mel- 
ancholy thoughts  or  reflections  which  are  not  as 
philosophical  as  one  would  wish.  I  am  in  that 
case,  and,  to  distract  myself,  I  must  have  recourse 
to  this  casket,  which  I  have  not  opened  for  a  very 
long  time ;  so  long,  in  fact,  that  I  have  quite  for- 
gotten the  nature  of  its  contents. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       157 

What  do  I  see  ?  A  pile  of  letters  in  divers 
handwritings.  Ah,  I  remember  now,  that  is  where 
I  formerly  kept  my  sweethearts'  letters.  Several 
years  have  passed  since  then.  I  have  travelled, 
run  about  the  world  ;  they  have  forgotten  me, 
which  is  quite  natural,  and  the  casket  has  remained 
unopened.  I  will  read  over,  as  they  come,  some 
of  these  letters ;  I  shall  not  experience  the  same 
pleasure  as  when  first  I  read  them,  but  I  feel  that 
I  shall  still  feel  some.  Is  not  happiness  composed 
of  memories  and  hopes  ? 

DEAR  FRIEND. —  Each  day  I  feel  that  I  care  for  you  more. 
I  am  unhappy  when  away  from  you  ;  lacking  your  presence  I 
languish,  I  suffer,  and  I  sigh  incessantly.  If  you  should  cease 
to  love  me  I  shall  die.  Yes,  death  would  be  preferable  to  your 
inconstancy. 

This  was  from  the  passionate  Rosamonde.  How 
fiercely  love's  fire  flamed  in  her  heart!  But  for 
a  long  time  past  she  has  been  married,  she  has 
three  children,  and  she  has  grown  so  stout  that  she 
can  hardly  walk.  I  met  her  about  a  week  ago. 
No  one  would  ever  suspect,  who  saw  her  now, 
that  she  had  wished  to  die  for  love's  sweet  sake. 
Let  us  look  at  another. 

You  are  a  wretch.  I  hate  you!  I  detest  you!  I  saw  you 
casting  sweet  glances  at  your  neighbor.  If  all  the  women  knew 
you  as  I  do,  no  one  would  want  to  see  you.  Good-by,  mon- 
sieur, do  not  hope  to  deceive  me  longer;  henceforth  all  is  over 
between  us. 

Charming  Hortense  !  how  well  I  remember  the 


158     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

scenes  you  used  to  make  me.  You  were  a  very 
agreeable,  very  witty  woman,  but  too  jealous,  too 
exacting.  The  day  after  that  on  which  I  received 
this  letter  she  was  with  me  at  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  Let  us  pass  to  another. 

Good  heavens!  my  dear  friend,  I  do  not  know  what  is  the 
matter  with  me  now,  but  since  I  have  known  you  I  am  no 
longer  the  same.  Mamma  scolds  me  because  I  am  dreamy,  but 
am  I  to  blame  in  thinking  continually  of  the  pretty  things  you 
have  said  to  me?  I  don't  care  for  anything  now;  my  piano 
wearies  me,  drawing  tires  me,  dancing  even  has  lost  its  charm 
for  me.  They  scold  me  because  I  am  so  pale.  Alas!  I  feel 
that  I  am  really  very  ill,  for  I  sigh  all  day,  and  my  heart  is  so 
full  that  I  want  to  cry.  You  told  me  you  would  tell  me  what 
was  the  cause  of  my  feeling  so  ill,  and  it  was  that  I  might  know 
this  that  I  secretly  write  to  you. 

Sweet  child  !  how  naive,  how  pleading,  how  in- 
nocent in  her  style  !  Who  would  have  believed 
that,  at  the  end  of  six  months,  the  perfidious  girl 
would  have  no  thought  for  any  one  but  her  cousin, 
the  hussar.  This  is  what  one  gets  by  trusting  to 
one  of  your  ingenues.  Let's  look  at  this  one. 

I  am  greatly  surprised,  monsieur,  that  you  should  fail  to  keep 
your  appointment  with  me  ;  it  was  not  fitting  that  I  should  wait 
in  vain  ;  you  should  have  shown  more  regard  for  a  woman  Jike 
me,  and  not  have  treated  me  like  one  of  the  grisettes  of  your 
acquaintance. 

Ha,  ha !  this  was  from  that  prudish  Cesarine 
who,  in  society,  was  so  severe,  so  cold-hearted,  so 
disdainful,  while  in  a  tete-a-tete !  And  all  that  to 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       159 

end  in  marrying  a  provincial  apothecary,  whom  I 
will  wager  she  keeps  in  hot  water  from  morning 
till  night.  Madame  wanted  to  pass  for  a  woman 
of  the  very  strictest  virtue  —  she  was  angry  when 
any  one  sang  £  le  Senateur  "  or  "  En  revenant  du 
village  "  before  her.  But  prudes  are  as  deceptive 
as  ingenues.  Let  us  go  on  to  another. 

Do  you  want  to  make  another  Nina  of  me  ?  You  condemn 
me  to  say,  "  There  will  be  one  tomorrow."  But  tomorrow 
comes,  and  no  letter ;  and  still  I  must  not  be  vexed,  because  you 
will  not  like  that.  Well,  in  less  than  a  week  I  shall  see  the  only 
being  that  I  love  —  but  that  is  a  very  indifferent  matter  to  you  ! 
If  I  was  quite  sure  of  that,  however,  I  would  never  again  look 
into  those  naughty  eyes,  which  fill  my  mind  with  such  sweet 
uneasiness. 

Amiable  Eugenie,  how  much  I  liked  your  natu- 
ral, truthful  style,  often  witty,  without  striving  to 
be  so.  How  well  you  wrote  of  love.  In  reading 
your  letters  I  was  enchanted,  though  I  must  con- 
fess I  was  less  so  when  I  learned  that  you  had 
written  like  ones  to  twenty  others  before  me.  Oh, 
the  women  !  the  women  !  But  what  is  this  pret- 
tily folded  note  which  still  smells  of  musk  and 
ambergris  ? 

Come,  for  I  await  you,  I  have  had  the  horses  put  in  my 
barouche.  We  will  go  and  breakfast  at  Enghien,  return  to  dinner 
at  the  Palais-Royal  ;  then,  in  the  evening,  we'll  go  to  the  Opera. 
I  am  free  for  the  whole  day. 

This  was  from  the  brilliant  Eleonore,  she  drove 
pleasure  as  fast  as  she  lived  ;  with  her  one  was 


160     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

never  dull,  never  bored  for  a  moment ;  but  it  was 
hardly  possible  to  know  her  for  a  month  without 
being  completely  ruined.  Poor  woman,  I  met  her 
yesterday  in  the  street.  What  a  change  had  been 
wrought  in  her  in  six  years  ;  I  saw  a  thin,  debili- 
tated woman,  meanly  dressed,  whose  features  and 
whole  person  gave  evidence  of  misfortune  —  it  was 
Eleonore.  I  dared  not  accost  her,  fearing  to  make 
trouble  for  her,  though  I  should  have  liked  to  do 
something  for  her — we  will  read  no  more  of  these. 
I  think  I  should  have  done  better  to  burn  them 
long  ago. 

THE  ROSEBUSH 

IF  our  brilliant  and  noisy  capital  is  the  centre 
for  gambling,  pleasure,  spectacles,  lively  adven- 
tures and  comical  scenes,  touching  deeds  and  acts 
of  friendship,  of  sensibility,  are  not  strangers  to  it 
either,  they  are  perhaps  more  common  than  one 
would  think.  If  we  know  less  about  them,  it  is 
because  the  French, always  inclined  to  laugh,  would 
rather  relate  a  joke  than  a  sentimental  anecdote. 

In  one  of  the  most  populous  quarters  of  this 
city  lived  a  poor  woman,  who,  having  lost  suc- 
cessively her  husband  and  her  children,  found  her- 
self forced  to  work  for  her  living.  She  was  no 
longer  young  and  she  lived  on  the  fifth  floor ;  in 
consideration  for  her  age,  the  persons  who  em- 
ployed her  had  their  work  carried  to  her  and  sent 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       161 

for  it  when  it  was  done,  in  order  that  she  might 
not  tire  herself  by  going  up  and  down  the  stairs  so 
often. 

In  a  house  opposite  to  that  in  which  this  poor 
lady  lodged,  a  young  girl  of  eighteen,  pretty,  gentle, 
and  virtuous,  an  orphan  moreover,  lived  alone  in 
a  little  room  on  the  sixth  floor,  the  window  of 
which  was  exactly  opposite  to  that  of  the  old  lady. 

The  young  girl  earned  her  living  by  embroider- 
ing and  worked  assiduously  all  day,  seated  beside 
her  window,  her  only  distraction  being  to  tend  and 
care  for  a  beautiful  rosebush  which  she  placed  every 
day  on  her  window-sill.  Probably  the  superinten- 
dent of  police  never  looked  at  that  particular 
window. 

While  seated  at  her  embroidery  frame  the  young 
girl  perceived  her  neighbor,  whose  respectable  ap- 
pearance pleased  her,  for  she  was  not  one  of  those 
damsels  who  turn  the  mammas  into  ridicule.  For 
her  part  the  good  lady  was  delighted  at  the  modesty 
of  the  young  girl,  and  the  skill  which  she  exhibited 
in  her  work.  They  bowed  to  each  other,  they 
spoke ;  at  length  the  young  girl,  as  she  went  for 
or  brought  back  her  work,  would  go  up  to  the  old 
lady's,  so  that  presently  the  most  sincere  friend- 
ship was  formed  between  these  two  persons.  Al- 
though so  different  in  age,  their  ideas  were  the 
same ;  the  younger  looked  upon  the  elder  as  her 
mother,  and  the  latter  felt  as  if,  in  the  young  girl, 
she  had  regained  one  of  her  lost  children. 

Vol.  XIX 


162     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

This  connection  endured  for  almost  a  year  ;  it 
was  not  one  of  those  formed  and  dispelled  by  ca- 
price. But  the  poor  young  embroideress  fell  sick  ; 
continual  bending  over  her  work  had  weakened  her 
chest,  and  that  cruel  malady  which  so  often  develops 
in  the  springtime  of  life  in  a  short  time  made  the 
most  terrible  ravages  in  her  person. 

What  troubled  the  young  girl  most  was  the  fact 
that  she  could  not  go  so  often  to  see  her  whom  she 
called  mother.  To  go  down  six  flights  of  stairs, 
and  climb  five  others,  became  too  fatiguing  to  the 
young  girl,  whose  strength  decreased  day  by  day, 
and  the  old  lady  could  with  difficulty  leave  her 
armchair. 

They  necessarily  had  to  content  themselves  with 
seeing  each  other  at  the  window.  The  young  em- 
broideress put  her  rosebush  out  every  morning  and 
took  it  in  at  evening.  As  long  as  the  rosebush  was 
not  on  the  window-sill,  the  old  lady  knew  that  her 
young  friend  had  not  as  yet  opened  the  window ; 
she  remained,  however,  beside  her  own  and  watched 
for  her  child  that  she  might  show  her  some  little 
friendly  signs. 

Every  day,  however,  the  rosebush  was  put  out 
later,  for  the  young  invalid  could  no  longer  get 
up  early.  She  was  fading  away  without  being 
aware  of  it ;  but  her  poor  neighbor  perceived  the 
frightful  change  that  was  working  upon  her,  and 
when  the  rosebush  was  very  late  in  making  its 
appearance  her  uneasiness  became  greater. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       163 

The  poor  little  thing  made  superhuman  efforts 
to  reach  and  open  her  window  still ;  but  a  day 
came  when  it  was  impossible  to  her  to  do  so,  her 
old  friend  waited  vainly  for  the  rosebush  to  appear. 
The  day  rolled  by  and  she  saw  no  sign  of  it. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  the  good  lady,  "  I  have  lost  my 
child." 

In  fact,  the  young  embroideress  was  no  more, 
they  found  her  near  the  rosebush,  which  she  had 
made  a  last  but  unavailing  effort  to  show  to  her  old 
friend. 

SHE  WAS  SO  PRETTY 

I  HAD  sworn  never  to  love  again  ;  deceived,  be- 
trayed a  hundred  times,  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  not  to  fly  from  a  sex,  the  society  of  which 
made  the  charm  of  my  life;  but,  at  least,  to  view  it 
with  indifference,  and  only  to  look  on  beauty  from 
the  standpoint  of  the  connoisseur,  just  as  those 
gamblers  who  have  learned  wisdom  content  them- 
selves by  judging  the  game  without  taking  part  in  it. 
But  alas  !  men's  vows  are  written  in  sand  !  and 
how  could  I  resist  love  when  the  vision  of  Clarisse 
dawned  upon  me  ?  She  was  so  pretty  ! 

I  forgot  my  vows ;  I  bade  good-by  to  wisdom 
and  often  to  reason ;  how  could  one  preserve  that 
near  her?  Grace,  carriage,  features,  freshness, 
everything  pleasing  was  united  in  her;  one  had  to 
love  her.  Everybody  yielded  to  her  sway ;  I  did 


1 64     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

like  everybody  else,  but  I  should  have  liked  to  be 
the  only  one  to  love  her  —  we  are  all  egotists. 
For  some  time  I  believed  that  my  love  was  returned ; 
she  made  me  believe  all  that  she  wished.  How 
could  I  doubt  words  spoken  by  so  charming  a 
mouth  ?  Then,  even  when  her  coquetry  had  sad- 
dened me,  with  a  word,  a  smile,  she  would  dissi- 
pate my  suspicions.  She  was  so  pretty  ! 

For  her  I  committed  a  thousand  follies ;  I  neg- 
lected my  occupations,  my  relations,  my  friends, 
I  would  have  given  up  everything  if  I  might  have 
seen  her  only,  occupied  myself  only  with  her.  I 
would  not  listen  to  good  advice;  I  turned  from  all 
the  representations  of  friendship,  I  had  only  eyes 
for  her;  I  could  not  exist  in  her  absence.  To 
satisfy  all  her  tastes,  all  her  caprices,  to  comply 
instantly  with  her  slightest  desire,  that  was  my 
sweetest  occupation.  For  her  I  dissipated  my  for- 
tune, I  lost  my  time,  I  neglected  my  talents ;  but 
I  regretted  nothing  —  she  was  so  pretty ! 

As  the  reward  of  so  much  love  I  was  again  de- 
ceived !  She  left  me  !  I  saw  her  with  another. 
I  could  not  even  doubt  as  to  the  extent  of  my 
misfortune.  As  I  thought  of  all  I  had  done  for 
her,  of  her  ingratitude,  her  perfidy,  I  flattered  my- 
self that  I  should  forget  her  or  at  least  hate  her  as 
much  as  I  had  loved  her.  Vain  was  the  effort,  my 
weak  heart  loved  her  still  —  her  image  came  con- 
stantly to  fill  it;  and  despite  her  treachery  I  felt  that 
I  should  always  adore  her.  She  was  so  pretty ! 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       165 

But  alas  !  her  career  was  short ;  cut  off  at  the 
height  of  her  beauty,  death  struck  her  in  the  midst 
of  the  pleasures,  the  love,  the  seductions  with  which 
she  was  so  constantly  surrounded,  and  which  she 
knew  so  well  how  to  lavish  in  her  turn.  Her 
grace,  her  manifold  attractions,  could  not  stay  the 
hand  of  the  cruel  Reaper !  Clarisse  has  gone  down 
to  the  grave !  she  had  shone  but  for  a  moment. 

All  those  who  had  surrounded  her,  who  had 
sought  to  obtain  a  look,  a  smile,  have  already  for- 
gotten her  to  seek  other  conquests.  I  alone  go  to 
visit  her  grave ;  I  alone  kneel  on  that  earth  which 
covers  the  most  seductive  being  born  of  nature.  I 
think  no  more  of  the  wrong  she  did  me,  I  recall 
nothing  but  the  sweet  moments  that  we  have 
passed  together.  If  she  were  still  living  I  should 
think  myself  fortunate  if  she  would  give  me  but 
one  hour  of  love.  For  that  hour,  I  would  still  have 
forgiven  her  everything  else.  She  was  so  pretty! 

THE    FIRESIDE 

WITH  the  return  of  winter  the  fireside  re- 
sumes its  old  dominion.  What  should  we 
do  without  it  in  the  long  and  cold  winter  evenings  ? 
Delightful  fireside  nook  ;  so  cosy  and  confidential, 
the  very  sight  of  it  is  sufficient  to  call  forth  our 
cheerfulness,  awaken  wit,  and  delight  solitude.  Of 
how  many  circles  is  the  fireside  the  greatest  at- 
traction ? 


i66     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

Seated  before  his  fire  the  author,  resting  from  his 
work,  dreams  of  his  success  ;  in  its  glowing  depths 
he  finds  the  verse  which  would  not  come  to  him 
at  his  desk.  As  he  pokes  it,  the  old  man  delights 
in  memories  and  feels  the  chill  of  age  less.  In 
front  of  one's  fire  one  lives  again  in  one's  memory 
the  pleasures  of  the  past  or  forms  new  hopes  for 
the  future. 

Ah,  the  poker  falls.  "That's  company  coming," 
says  the  old  lady  in  her  chimney  corner ;  "  I  am  cer- 
tain that  before  a  quarter  of  an  hour  is  gone  by  we 
shall  see  somebody — it  never  fails  !"  In  fact  in  a 
few  minutes  the  old  woman's  door  is  rattled  and  she 
goes  and  opens  it  for  —  her  cat.  "  Ah,"  says  she, 
"  it  was  the  poker  made  Moumoute  come  in." 

Seated  before  their  fire,  with  what  pleasure  these 
children  listen  to  their  nurse  as  she  tells  them 
stories  of  robbers  or  ghosts.  The  poor  little  things 
snuggle  close  up  to  one  another.  They  are  fright- 
ened by  them,  but  how  they  love  those  stories  as 
their  gaze  is  fixed  on  the  glowing  flames  on  the 
hearth  !  If  the  fire  were  to  go  out,  the  poor  chil- 
dren would  no  longer  dare  to  look  behind 
them. 

Happy  the  lover  who  surprises  the  lady  of  his 
heart  before  her  fire,  where  he  can,  having  no  wit- 
ness but  the  discreet  blazes,  make  full  confession 
to  her  of  his  love.  The  fire  roaring  so  cheerily  up 
the  chimney  is  often  a  powerful  auxiliary.  One  is 
much  less  severe  with  one's  feet  on  the  fender  — 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      167 

and  the  fire  has  seen  more  than  one  defeat  con- 
fessed. 

When  one  gets  up  one  goes  to  the  fire,  on  leav- 
ing the  table  one  hastens  back  to  it.  The  clerk 
when  he  reaches  his  office  greets  his  stove  or  his 
hearth,  and  while  he  warms  himself  at  it  he  reads 
his  paper,  talks  politics  or  literature  ;  beside  it  he 
trims  his  pen  and  eats  his  luncheon  roll. 

With  his  back  to  the  fire  and  his  face  to  the  table, 
the  gastronomer  laughs  at  the  evils  which  afflict 
poor  humanity.  But  as  he  warms  himself  he  does 
not,  he  cannot  see  the  unfortunate  creature  who 
stops  in  the  street  and  holds  out  his  trembling 
hand.  Though  the  winter  passes  cheerfully  for 
those  who  are  rejoiced  by  comfortable  fires,  it  is 
very  long,  very  hard  for  those  unhappy  beings  who 
have  no  fuel  to  put  on  their  hearths.  The  poor 
devils  freeze  in  their  garrets,  shiver  in  the  streets, 
in  the  squares,  or  in  a  niche  beside  some  post,  only 
too  happy  when  a  few  burning  bundles  of  straw 
allow  them  to  warm  their  numbed  limbs. 

When  we  are  resting  before  a  sparkling  fire, 
when  we  enjoy  its  cheerful  blaze,  let  us  think  some- 
times of  those  who  have  hardly  any — let  us  help 
those  who  have  none. 


MONSIEUR  BERTRAND'S  HOUSE- 
HOLD 

MONSIEUR  BERTRAND  often  invited 
me  to  go  to  dinner  with  him,  and  I  had  never 
accepted,  for  I  am  rather  distrustful  of  these  invi- 
tations which  are  only  given  in  the  street  or  when 
one  meets  at  a  third  person's  house.  And  then 
there  was  in  M.  Bertrand's  appearance  a  careless- 
ness which  did  not  incline  me  to  share  his  dinner ; 
always  untidy,  though  he  wore  good  enough 
clothes ;  having  a  shirt  frill  covered  with  snuff, 
wearing  a  stained  coat  with  new  trousers,  a  dirty 
waistcoat  with  a  white  cravat.  The  disorder  which 
I  observed  in  M.  Bertrand's  attire  seemed  to  me 
to  augur  ill  for  his  household.  I  have  generally 
noticed  that  one  dines  badly  at  the  houses  of 
people  who  are  not  careful  about  themselves. 

I  did  not  know  M.  Bertrand's  family,  but  busi- 
ness lately  obliged  me  to  speak  to  him,  so  I  went 
to  his  house.  It  was  noon,  I  thought  I  should 
find  him  in,  and  that  he  would  have  breakfasted. 

I  entered  the  house,  which  was  in  a  good  neigh- 
borhood. He  lived  on  the  second  floor;  he  must 
have  a  fine  apartment.  I  went  up,  I  rang,  I  waited 
a  little,  at  length  some  one  opened ;  it  was  a  little 
girl  of  five  or  six  years,  who  held  a  slice  of  bread 
and  jam  in  her  hand,  and  who  opened  the  door 
without  looking  at  me  and  then  ran  towards  a 
little  boy  of  seven  or  eight  who  was  rummaging 

168 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       169 

in  a  sideboard,  from  which  he  seemed  to  take  any- 
thing he  wanted. 

I  looked  around  me  for  a  moment,  and  seeing 
no  one  else,  and  not  knowing  what  to  do,  I  decided 
to  address  the  children,  who  did  not  answer  me. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  M.  Bertrand,  if  you 
please,  mademoiselle." 

"  Ah,  Coco,  give  me  some  cheese.  I  want  some 
of  it." 

"  Why,  what  a  greedy  thing  you  are !  haven't 
you  got  jam?" 

"  All  the  same,  I  want  some  cheese,  or  else  I 
shall  tell  mamma  that  you  have  taken  the  pie  she 
was  keeping  for  dinner." 

"  What  do  you  think  I  care  if  you  do  ? " 

I  was  still  there,  listening  to  the  children's  dia- 
logue, when  a  lady  appeared,  half  dressed,  in  night- 
cap and  dressing-jacket,  holding  a  corset  in  one 
hand  and  a  staylace  in  the  other.  She  uttered  an 
exclamation  when  she  saw  me. 

"  Good  gracious  !  here  is  some  one,  and  those 
children  didn't  tell  me.  Pardon  me,  monsieur,  I 
thought  it  was  the  water  carrier.  Julie  —  Julie. 
What  a  state  I  am  in !  Julie,  give  me  my  gown." 

"  Madame,  it  is  M.  Bertrand  with  whom  I 
desire  to  speak  ! " 

"Yes,  monsieur,  you  shall  see  him.  Julie!  But 
where  can  the  maid  be  ?  " 

"  She  hasn't  come  back  from  market  yet, 
mamma." 


170     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  Good  heavens  !  two  hours  to  buy  a  fowl.  It 
is  frightful.  And  I  have  no  one  to  dress  me. 
Never  mind,  monsieur,  take  the  trouble  to  pass 
through  this  room  and  you  will  find  M.  Bertrand." 

I  passed  into  another  room,  knocking  my  legs 
against  furniture  and  dusting  brushes,  for  the  room 
was  not  yet  set  in  order.  At  length  I  found 
M.  Bertrand  in  his  dressing-gown,  in  the  midst 
of  a  pile  of  papers,  books,  cardboard  boxes,  engaged 
in  sharpening  his  razors. 

"  Why,  is  it  you,  my  dear  fellow  ? "  he  said, 
coming  towards  me,  razor  in  hand.  "Why,  it 
is  charming  of  you  to  come  and  surprise  us  thus. 
You  will  breakfast  with  us,  will  you  not  ? " 

"  What !  haven't  you  had  breakfast  yet  ?  —  at 
noon  ?  " 

"Oh,  we  have  no  set  hour,  and  then  some  days 
we  get  up  late." 

"  I  have  breakfasted.  I  only  came  to  get  some 
information." 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  will  you  allow  me  to 
shave  ?  " 

"  Do  so,  I  beg  of  you." 

"  Madame  Bertrand,  for  two  hours  have  I  been 
asking  for  hot  water  to  shave  myself." 

"Well,  monsieur,  Julie  must  have  put  some  on 
the  fire.  Adele,  go  and  see  if  there  is  any  hot 
water  for  your  papa." 

"Yes,  mamma,  there  was  some,  but  my  brother 
upset  the  coffee  pot  with  his  Punch," 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       171 

"  Oh,  well,  it  is  all  right,  I  shall  have  to  defer 
my  shave  till  tomorrow.  My  dear,  will  you  have 
breakfast  served  ? " 

"  Why,  you  are  in  a  great  hurry  to-day !  There 
is  nothing  ready  yet;  Julie  hasn't  come  back  from 
market." 

"If  you  will  kindly  give  me  the  memorandum 
I  asked  of  you,"  said  I  to  M.  Bertrand,  who  had 
set  to  work  sharpening  his  razors  again,  although 
he  was  not  going  to  shave ;  "  it  was  in  regard  to 
that  house  for  sale  that  you  mentioned  to  me 
yesterday." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  know  what  you  mean !  Wait,  the 
paper  should  be  here." 

M.  Bertrand  routed  furiously  in  several  boxes, 
but  found  nothing. 

"My  dear,  have  you  not  seen  a  paper  folded 
in  four  ?  I  think  I  left  it  on  the  mantelpiece  the 
day  before  yesterday." 

"  A  paper !  wait  a  bit !  Yes,  I  used  it  to  light 
my  fire.  Was  it  anything  very  important  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  was !  Devil  take  it !  they  burn 
everything  here." 

"  It  is  your  fault,  monsieur  you  should  have 
warned  me." 

"  Come,"  said  I  to  M.  Bertrand,  "since  the  in- 
formation is  burned,  I  will  not  disturb  you  further." 

"Why  don't  you  stay  to  breakfast;  they  are 
going  to  boil  some  milk  and  I'll  go  and  grind  the 
coffee,  it  will  soon  be  ready." 


172     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"Very  much  obliged,  but  some  other  time, 
perhaps." 

"  Come  whenever  you  please,  we  dine  at  five 
o'clock  precisely,  for  I  like  punctuality ;  but  you 
know  the  way  now,  so  come  and  we'll  talk  of 
business,  I  have  some  very  good  things  on  hand." 

Making  my  way  through  a  medley  of  chairs, 
playthings,  and  brooms,  I  bade  good-by  to 
M,  Bertrand's  household. 

MEMORANDA  OF  AN  ADONIS 

I  WAS  sixteen  years  old  yesterday.  I  am  begin- 
ning to  look  like  a  man,  I  am  already  quite  tall. 
My  uncle  says  that  I  am  not  bad-looking,  my  aunt 
says  I  will  be  very  handsome,  and  my  aunt  ought 
to  know  better  than  my  uncle  ;  women  have  more 
tact,  they  say,  more  shrewdness  than  men.  My 
little  cousin  says  nothing  and  lowers  her  eyes  when 
they  talk  about  me  —  I  have  an  idea  that  she 
thinks  the  same  as  my  aunt. 

Yesterday  my  cousin  gave  me  this  set  of  tablets  ; 
how  pretty  they  are,  a  delightful  present.  She 
could  not  have  given  me  anything  that  would  have 
pleased  me  better. 

"  Here,"  said  she,  when  she  gave  them  to  me, 
"you  can  write  your  secrets  on  those,  your 
thoughts." 

Women  understand  that  we  have  secrets  then. 
My  cousin  is  eighteen,  she  is  charming.  Beautiful 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       173 

eyes  !  I  dare  only  look  at  them  furtively,  for  I 
tremble  all  over  when  she  fixes  them  on  me.  Oh, 
I  should  like  to  know  if  my  cousin  has  secrets, 
and  what  she  would  put  on  the  tablets. 

I  have  just  written  my  cousin's  name  on  them, 
Caroline  !  what  a  charming  name  !  Caroline,  how 
I  love  to  pronounce  it,  to  hear  it.  It  seems  to  me 
that  every  woman  called  Caroline  must  be  as  pretty 
as  my  cousin. 

If  I  dared  to  write  some  verses  on  her  I  have 
some  already  begun.  They  are  much  nicer  than 
Latin  verses.  Next  year  I  shall  be  leaving  col- 
lege ;  it  seems  to  me  I  might  as  well  leave  it  this 
year ;  I  know  enough  now,  but  my  father  does 
not  think  so.  If  they  would  only  let  me  study 
with  my  cousin.  I  am  sure  I  should  learn  every- 
thing they  wish  then.  When  she  asks  me  to  do 
anything  I  am  always  so  pleased.  I  am  very  fond 
of  my  aunt  too  ;  she  is  still  very  pretty.  For  four 
years  I  have  heard  her  say  she  was  thirty-six  ;  that 
isn't  old  for  a  woman,  but  it  would  be  quite  old 
for  a  man. 

Twenty  years  is  a  fine  age  !  Oh,  when  only  I 
am  as  old  as  that !  People  will  take  some  notice 
of  me  then,  they  won't  look  on  me  as  a  child ;  I 
shall  let  my  mustache  grow,  and  when  I  shall  give 
my  arm  to  my  cousin  no  one  can  look  at  her  too 
closely  or  I  shall  out  with  my  sword  or  fire  my 
pistol.  By  the  way,  I  mustn't  forget  to  learn  to  fire 
a  pistol. 


i74     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

Yesterday  I  passed  the  evening  at  my  cousin's, 
we  played  some  amusing  games  ;  I  did  not  like 
them,  however,  for  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  very 
awkward  at  them. 

I  was  seated  beside  my  cousin,  her  arm  was 
touching  mine.  How  happy  I  was.  But  on  her 
other  side  there  was  a  gentleman  who  often  talked 
with  her.  Caroline  was  laughing  a  good  deal  at 
something  he  said.  I  don't  know  why,  but  it  made 
me  ill  to  hear  her  laugh  —  it  made  me  feel  as  if  I 
would  like  to  cry. 

They  asked  me  what  I  was  thinking  of,  because 
I  said  nothing.  I  answered  that  I  had  a  headache. 
I  must  have  looked  foolish.  They  played  forfeits, 
and  Caroline  had  to  call  some  one  to  come  and 
kiss  her.  I  was  trembling,  I  hoped  it  would  be 
me,  but  she  called  the  gentleman  she  had  been 
laughing  with.  I  felt  my  heart  oppressed  as  though 
I  were  stifling. 

I  went  into  a  corner  and  I  played  no  more. 
She  came  to  me,  and  with  a  charming  smile  she 
asked  if  I  had  yet  written  anything  on  my  tablets. 
I  gave  them  to  her  and  I  was  trembling  like  a  leaf. 
She  saw  her  name  written  several  times  and  she 
smiled  ;  when  she  gave  them  back  to  me,  she  softly 
pressed  my  hand  —  I  did  not  know  where  I  was, 
I  could  think  of  nothing  but  that —  I  dreamed  all 
night  of  my  cousin.  She  had  squeezed  my  hand. 
I  must  write  that  on  my  tablets,  dear  tablets !  I 
shall  always  keep  them. 


THE  FAITHFUL  LOVERS 
A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  GOOD  OLD  TIMES 

THE  Sire  d'Apremont  was  possessed  of  an 
ancient  castle  of  gothic  structure  flanked 
by  towers,  with  bastions  and  fortifications,  and  sur- 
rounded by  moats  filled  with  water ;  an  immense 
drawbridge  was  let  down  only  at  the  sound  of  a 
horn  blown  by  a  dwarf  who  was  constantly  placed 
in  a  sentry-box  on  one  of  the  turrets. 

No  one  could  penetrate  easily  into  the  castle  of 
the  Sire  d'Apremont ;  for  in  those  times  noblemen 
never  showed  themselves  except  surrounded  by  a 
numerous  guard  ;  their  vassals  could  not  approach 
them,  and  even  if  they  had  been  able,  not  one  of 
them  would  have  dared  to  do  so,  for  each  one 
trembled  and  shivered  at  the  mere  mention  of 
their  sweet  master's  name  —  and  in  those  times 
the  master  did  not  hesitate  to  have  the  villains,  the 
serfs  and  the  varlets  beaten  if  they  ventured  to 
raise  their  heads  in  his  presence. 

This  Due  d'Apremont  had  a  beautiful  and  gra- 
cious lady  wife,  but  rather  coquettish  withal ;  and 
in  those  times  husbands  had  no  idea  of  allowing 
their  wives  to  be  coquettish.  The  fair  chatelaine, 
forgetting  to  ask  permission  to  do  so,  had  smiled 
at  a  chevalier  who  had  broken  several  lances  in  a 
tourney.  The  Due  d'Apremont  was  jealous,  and 
in  those  times  a  jealous  husband  was  to  be  feared. 
The  latter  had  noticed  the  smile  which  his  wife  had 

»75 


176     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

bestowed  on  the  handsome  chevalier,  and  instead 
of  inviting  the  young  man  to  come  and  eat  his  soup 
and  conduct  madame  to  the  spectacle,  as  was  the 
custom  in  those  days,  the  master  of  the  castle  had 
shut  his  spouse  up  in  a  dungeon  in  the  bottom  of 
a  tower,  giving  her  no  nourishment  but  bread  and 
water,  and  for  her  only  distraction  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  him  once  a  day. 

But  in  those  times  a  wife  did  not  laugh  when 
she  looked  at  her  husband.  The  poor  lady  there- 
fore found  that  the  simplest  thing  she  could  do  was 
to  die  of  grief;  for  in  those  times  a  woman  died  of 
grief  when  she  had  smiled  at  any  one  beside  her 
husband.  History  does  not  tell  us  whether  it  was 
from  repentance  at  having  smiled  or  sorrow  because 
she  could  not  smile  again ;  this  is  a  point  which 
deserves  to  be  cleared  up  —  I  recommend  it  to  the 
notice  of  our  learned  and  critical  investigators  of 
old  chronicles. 

When  the  Sire  d'Apremont  saw  his  wife  dead 
he  did  not  weep,  which  was  very  bad  of  him,  nor 
did  he  have  one  of  those  pretty  tombstones  set  up 
on  which  are  engraved  verses  in  honor  of  the  de- 
funct ;  but  in  those  times,  it  seems,  tyrants  did  not 
know  how  to  dissimulate. 

The  lady  left  a  daughter  to  her  husband,  and  as 
the  latter  had  come  into  the  world  a  long  time 
before  the  lady  smiled  at  the  chevalier  of  the  tour- 
ney, the  Sire  d'Apremont  was  excessively  fond  of 
her ;  the  beautiful  Cunegonde  was  the  sole  object 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       177 

of  his  care,  his  dearest  hopes  were  fixed  on  her ; 
which,  however,  did  not  prevent  him  from  keeping 
her  constantly  shut  up  in  his  castle,  allowing  her 
to  see  no  one  but  her  duenna,  not  permitting  her 
any  company,  nor  balls,  nor  games,  nor  walks 
"  extra  muros,"  and  not  even  giving  her  a  single 
master.  But  in  those  times  a  girl  was  thought 
sufficiently  educated  when  she  knew  how  to  hold 
herself  straight,  lower  her  eyes  and  drop  a  curtsey. 
They  teach  a  good  many  other  things  to  the  young 
ladies  nowadays. 

A  young  page,  however,  who  prowled  around 
the  castle  managed  to  make  Cunegonde  understand 
that  he  thought  her  charming,  and  that  he  was 
burning  with  love  for  her.  No  doubt  her  eyes 
were  not  downcast  when  she  saw  the  sweet  glances 
of  the  page  ;  but  in  those  times  the  most  innocent 
girls  had  their  distractions.  Besides,  Cunegonde 
took  after  her  mother ;  she  was  extremely  sensi- 
tive. 

A  daughter  loves  to  do 
All  that  her  mother  did, 

says  a  song,  the  refrain  of  which  will  last  through- 
out all  time.  The  page  demanded  the  young  girl's 
hand  of  the  Sire  d'Apremont,  but  the  master  of 
the  castle  had  the  cruelty  to  refuse  him,  under  the 
pretext  that  he  possessed  nothing.  It  seems  that 
in  those  times  people  held  to  the  idea  of  money. 
The  page,  disconsolate,  wished  to  die  of  love  ;  but 
since  love  does  not  cause  one  to  die  quickly  enough 

Vol.  XIX 


i78     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

he  thought  it  would  be  much  better  for  him  to  go 
and  get  killed  in  Palestine ;  for  in  those  times 
a  good  many  Christians  were  put  out  of  their 
trouble  by  the  Saracens,  and  the  Christians,  in  their 
turn,  sent "  ad  patres  "  a  good  many  infidels.  They 
did  not  send  them  all,  for  we  meet  some  of  them 
still  in  these  days. 

The  page  started  off,  then,  swearing  to  Cune- 
gonde,  by  signs  from  afar  off,  to  remain  faithful  to 
her  until  death.  His  darling,  who  understood  his 
signs  perfectly,  made  him  the  same  vows  on  her 
part,  and  in  those  times,  strange  to  say,  people 
kept  the  vows  they  made.  See  how  unfortunately 
things  turn  out ;  hardly  had  the  page  departed 
when  the  Sire  d'Apremont  died,  carrying  to  the 
tomb  the  love  of  his  vassals  and  of  all  who  had 
known  him,  even  of  the  mistress  of  the  castle 
whom  he  had  left  to  die  in  the  depths  of  a  dungeon 
—  at  least  that  was  what  the  chaplain  of  the  castle 
said  in  his  funeral  oration.  But  in  those  times  death 
turned  a  rascal  into  an  honest  man  and  made  a 
scoundrel  virtuous.  Go  to  Pere-Lachaise  or  to 
Montmartre  and  read  the  inscriptions  ;  you  will 
be  convinced  that  all  those  who  rest  there  were 
endowed  with  a  thousand  virtues,  which  does  great 
honor  to  our  times. 

Here,  then,  was  the  loving  Cunegonde  mistress 
of  her  fate ;  she  was  very  anxious  to  acquaint  the 
page  with  this  news,  but  the  heedless  fellow  had 
not  left  his  address;  and  in  those  times  the  postal 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       179 

service  was  by  no  means  so  prompt  as  it  is  today ; 
it  was  therefore  necessary  to  wait  until  the  crusader 
brought  news  of  himself. 

Cunegonde  waited  a  year,  two  years,  three  years. 
In  those  times  women  had  an  immense  amount 
of  patience.  Although  a  great  many  knights  came 
to  Cunegonde  and  sought  to  make  her  forget  her 
page,  they  were  none  of  them  successful.  In  fact, 
not  until  three  years  had  passed  did  the  poor  youth 
return  to  his  country,  for  he  had  been  taken  pris- 
oner by  the  infidels ;  his  mistress  had,  however, 
remained  free ;  she  had  guarded  her  heart  for  him, 
and  he  was  not  at  all  surprised  at  that,  for  in  those 
times  they  believed  in  miracles. 

The  page  was  rather  battered  and  bent,  the 
Palestine  sun  had  browned  his  skin  and  whitened 
his  hair,  and  the  infidels  had  broken  some  of  his 
teeth.  For  her  part,  Cunegonde  was  not  quite  as 
fresh,  as  rosy,  or  as  slender  as  in  the  old  days,  but 
she  could  still  make  a  very  good  curtsey ;  and  the 
two  lovers  met  as  fondly  as  if  they  had  parted  the 
evening  before.  Hurrah  for  the  good  old  times  ! 

UNDERNEATH  THE  TABLE 

AT  one  of  those  big  dinners  whence  cheerfulness 
is  not  banished  by  ceremony,  where  men  of  wit 
know  how  to  sustain  the  conversation,  where  amia- 
ble and  witty  women  give  charm  and  life  to  the 
company,  and  where  the  mistress  of  the  house  has 


1 8o     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

the  faculty  of  seating  her  guests  in  such  a  manner 
that  each  one  finds  himself  beside  some  one  to 
whom  he  can  talk,  often,  I  confess,  I  have  been 
desirous  of  knowing  what  was  transpiring  under- 
neath the  table,  where  the  conversation  is  some- 
times very  interesting  and  very  animated. 

While  a  rather  diffuse  gentleman  was  entangling 
himself  in  a  story  which  gave  no  hope  that  it  would 
ever  come  to  an  end,  and  which  afforded  no  amuse- 
ment to  the  listeners,  I  noticed  a  little  lady  in  a  pink 
headdress,  who  seemed  much  moved,  softened, 
attentive ;  she  did  not  breathe,  she  was  motion- 
less, but  a  gentle  languor  was  expressed  in  her  eyes. 
It  was  impossible  that  it  could  be  the  story  this 
gentleman  was  relating  which  occupied  the  lady's 
thoughts  so  exclusively. 

Good !  here  is  a  giddy  young  girl  who  bursts 
out  laughing  while  the  conversation  is  running  on 
a  recent  calamity.  This  young  woman,  however, 
has  not  a  bad  heart;  the  desire  to  laugh  was  doubt- 
less caused  by  something  under  the  table. 

This  big  young  lady,  too,  she  turns  as  red  as  a 
cherry,  while  the  young  man  placed  beside  her 
offers  her,  with  a  very  reserved  expression,  a  plate 
filled  with  macaroons.  Ah,  mademoiselle,  it  is 
not  the  macaroons  which  give  you  such  a  beautiful 
color. 

And  this  young  lady  who  involuntarily  utters 
an  ejaculation. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  ?  "  inquires  her 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       181 

husband,  who  is  placed  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  answers  the  lady,  glancing  at  a 
gentleman  who  is  seated  beside  her,  "merely  a  pain 
in  my  teeth,  which  came  on  suddenly.  It  is  pass- 
ing away  now." 

But  the  dessert  has  arrived;  the  champagne 
sparkles  and  foams,  the  glasses  are  emptied,  heads 
grow  light  and  eyes  animated,  everybody  speaks 
at  once;  this  is  the  moment  when  one  may,  with- 
out fear  of  being  overheard,  say  many  things  to  his 
fair  neighbor ;  and  this  also  is  the  moment  when 
it  should  be  interesting  underneath  the  table. 

As  I  am  rather  curious,  and  as  besides  I  like  to 
satisfy  myself  about  things,  I  managed  to  drop  my 
snuffbox;  I  stooped  to  look  for  it,  and  at  the 
same  time  I  cast  an  observing  glance  about  me. 
All  the  feet  were  not  in  their  places ;  that  of  the 
pretty  lady  in  the  pink  headdress  was  under  that 
of  a  young  officer  of  hussars ;  the  knee  of  the  young 
author  was  quite  close  to  that  of  the  big  young  lady 
who  colors  and  lowers  her  eyes  every  time  any  one 
speaks  to  her.  The  hand  of  a  plain  artist  is  lightly 
pressed  by  that  of  a  marquise  in  the  decline  of 
life ;  while  that  rich  stockbroker,  under  pretense 
of  playing  with  his  napkin,  slips  a  billet-doux  on  to 
his  neighbor's  knee,  she  does  not  let  it  fall  either. 

But  come,  what  do  I  see  down  here?  Two  enor- 
mous feet,  one  on  the  other ;  surely  there  is  some 
mistake  here  !  Let's  examine  the  position  of  the 


1 82     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

owners ;  these  two  feet  belong,  one  to  a  big  Eng- 
lishman and  the  other  to  a  rich  old  fellow,  a  great 
admirer  of  the  fair  sex.  Between  these  two  gen- 
tlemen is  seated  a  young  girl  of  sixteen,  very  pretty 
and  fresh-looking,  but  very  awkward  and  simple. 
During  the  whole  meal,  the  poor  little  thing  has 
been  the  target  for  the  oglings  and  sighs  and  gal- 
lantries of  her  two  neighbors.  She  has  kept  her 
eyes  lowered  and  her  feet  drawn  back  under  her 
chair,  but  these  gentlemen  have  each  put  a  leg  out, 
and  the  big  Englishman's  foot  has  been  supported 
on  that  of  the  old  flirt.  Each  of  these  gentlemen 
is  delighted  because  he  thinks  he  has  obtained  a 
tender  favor;  and  the  heavier  the  Englishman  bears, 
the  more  highly  pleased  is  the  old  rake,  and  the 
sighings  and  oglings  begin  again. 

But  I  must  get  up,  I  have  been  quite  long  enough 
looking  for  my  snuffbox,  and  there  is  nothing 
more  to  see;  for  in  bumping  my  head  rather  hard 
against  a  leg  of  the  table  I  have  sent  all  the  feet 
to  their  proper  places. 

POTLUCK 

COME  and  share  my  dinner,"  a  gentleman 
whom  I  hardly  knew,  and  did  not  desire  to 
know  any  further,  often  said  to  me.  "  You  will 
see  my  family,  my  wife  and  my  children ;  you  will 
be  received  without  fuss  or  ceremony  ;  you'll  have 
potluck,  but  you  will  give  us  all  a  great  deal  of 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       183 

pleasure."  It  is  only  to  an  intimate  friend  that  one 
should  ever  venture  to  offer  potluck ;  but  friends 
are  so  rare,  and  good  dinners  so  common,  that  it 
would  be  very  agreeable  to  share  this  luck,  if  one 
were  sure  of  being  surrounded  only  by  good  peo- 
ple, true  friends,  who  welcome  you  just  for  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you,  and  not  for  some  interested 
motive,  which  is  often  the  real  incentive  of  an 
invitation. 

With  an  old  college  chum  whom  changes  of 
fortune  have  not  made  one's  enemy  or  who  is  not 
envious  of  our  good  fortune,  beside  the  young 
mother  of  a  family,  who  is  amiable  without  pre- 
tension, beautiful  but  not  coquettish,  the  most 
simple  dinner  would  really  be  good  luck. 

I  have  always  eluded  the  invitations  of  this  friend 
whom  I  do  not  know,  but  yesterday  I  met  him 
towards  five  o'clock  in  the  evening.  He  came 
hurriedly  towards  me,  seized  me  by  the  arm,  and 
stopped  me. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  cried  he. 

"To  dinner,"  I  answered  him,  without  thinking. 

"  To  dinner  ?  oh,  now  I  have  you !  you  must 
come  to  dinner  with  me." 

In  vain  I  offered  the  pretext  of  a  previous  in- 
vitation ;  my  man  would  not  let  me  off.  Longer 
resistance  would  have  been  ridiculous.  I  yielded 
with  the  best  grace  I  could  muster,  muttering  to 
myself, — 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  be  agreeably  surprised ;  this 


184     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

gentleman  is  a  mere  twaddler,  but  his  wife  may  be 
amiable,  his  children  well-bred,  and  his  cooking 
good." 

We  arrived  at  my  host's  house.  We  went  up 
to  the  third  floor.  Before  reaching  the  door  I 
heard  the  shouts  of  several  children  who  seemed 
to  be  fighting  and  crying. 

"  Ah,"  said  my  companion,  "  my  little  rascals 
are  hungry ;  they  are  expecting  me  impatiently." 

I  said  to  myself,  "  If  the  '  little  rascals '  carry  on 
like  this  all  through  dinner,  that  will  indeed  be  very 
interesting." 

We  rang ;  a  tall,  thin,  yellow-complexioned 
woman  opened  the  door,  and  made  an  involuntary 
motion  of  surprise  when  she  saw  me. 

"  My  dearest,"  said  my  host,  "  I  have  brought 

Monsieur ,  of  whom  I  have  often  spoken;  he's 

come  to  dine  with  us  —  unceremoniously." 

The  tall  lady's  face,  already  long  enough,  length- 
ened still  further  at  her  husband's  speech,  and  she 
greeted  me  with  a  convulsion  of  the  countenance 
which  I  might  have  taken  for  a  grimace,  but  which 
was  doubtless  intended  for  a  smile.  There  is 
nothing  more  disagreeable  than  to  witness  the  em- 
barrassment of  those  people  to  whose  house  one 
goes  against  his  will.  I  should  have  liked  to  be 
a  hundred  miles  away;  but  my  friend  —  whom  I 
do  not  know  —  pushed  me  into  another  room  that 
I  might  admire  the  convenience  of  his  dwelling  and 
that  I  might  not  hear  his  wife  grumble. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       185 

I  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble  in  getting  into  this 
other  room,  for  the  "  little  rascals  "  had  turned  it 
upside  down.  The  floor  was  covered  with  play- 
things, papers,  images,  dolls'  houses;  there  was  not 
a  chair  free  from  incumbrance. 

"  What  happiness  to  be  the  father  of  a  family," 
said  my  host  trying  to  find  me  a  seat. 

"Yes,"  answered  I,  "it  must  be  delightful, 
according  to  what  I  see." 

"  Hello,  Alcide !  Achille,come  here,  messieurs." 

"  What  do  you  want,  papa  ?  " 

"  Come  here,  I  say." 

The  little  boys  did  not  come.  The  papa  went 
to  take  them  by  the  ear,  saying, — 

"  They  are  very  obedient.  Well,  now,  Alcide, 
did  you  learn  your  lesson  properly.  Let's  hear 
your  fable." 

"  The  ant  having  sung  all  summer,  held  a  piece 
of  cheese  in  his  beak — " 

"  That's  very  well,"  answered  the  papa,  "  now, 
Achille,  it's  your  turn.  He's  a  joker  is  that  lit- 
tle fellow  —  What  is  the  most  wonderful  thing  in 
the  world  ? " 

"  A  pie,"  answered  the  little  one,  decidedly. 

"  Come,  now,  you  didn't  expect  such  an  answer 
as  that.  He's  deuced  sharp — I  shall  put  him  in 
the  post-office." 

Finally  the  tall  lady  called  to  us  that  dinner  was 
ready. 

"  Come,  we'll  go  to  the  table,"  said  my  host,  and 


i86     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

he  made  me  sit  between  himself  and  M.  Alcide, 
because  madame  was  obliged  to  get  up  every 
minute  to  serve  us,  her  maid  being  quite  ill ;  we 
know  what  that  means. 

"  If  my  husband  had  let  me  know  in  time,"  said 
the  lady  with  a  semi-agreeable  expression,  "  I 
should  have  cooked  something  for  monsieur,  but 
he's  incessantly  playing  me  such  tricks." 

"  Madame,"  said  I,  "  I  should  have  been  very 
sorry  to  have  caused  you  any  trouble." 

"  Of  course  ;  my  friend  came  without  ceremony. 
Potluck  and  a  picture  of  domestic  happiness,  that 
is  all  he  will  have." 

The  picture  of  domestic  happiness  was  composed 
of  some  bad  soup-maigre,  flanked  by  radishes  and 
Brittany  butter ;  and  to  add  to  my  satisfaction 
M.  Alcide  kept  throwing  pellets  of  bread  into  my 
plate  and  M.  Achille  was  kicking  me  under  the 
table. 

"  Have  something  to  drink,"  said  my  host,  "  it 
is  home-made  wine." 

Alas  !  I  had  already  perceived  that  to  my  sor- 
row. What  home-made  wine,  good  Lord !  It 
would  have  made  Panurge's  sheep  scour  the  woods 
again.  After  the  soup  came  a  piece  of  beef,  warmed 
over,  and  in  which  I  looked  in  vain  for  a  morsel  of 
fat.  I  was  obliged,  however,  to  accept  a  piece, 
which  I  should  have  liked  to  keep  to  sole  my 
boots.  After  the  beef  the  lady  of  the  house  proudly 
presented  a  great  dish  in  which  I  saw  nothing  but 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      187 

sauce.  At  sight  of  this,  the  "  little  rascals,"  who 
probably  saw  nothing  but  beef  soup  ordinarily,  set 
to  work  throwing  their  forks  in  the  air;  one  of  them 
struck  my  nose  and  my  cravat  bore  the  marks  of  it. 

"  You  must  let  me  know  what  you  think  of  this 
fricassee  of  fowl,"  said  my  neighbor  as  he  served 
me.  "  My  wife  cooks  it  deliciously." 

It  was  fortunate  that  he  told  me  it  was  fowl,  for 
finding  nothing  but  claws  and  onions  I  should 
have  been  puzzled  to  know  what  I  was  eating. 
But  M.  Alcide,  in  trying  to  throw  a  little  bone  at 
his  brother,  overturned  a  water-bottle,  which  rolled 
off  the  table  and  broke  on  my  breeches.  The 
mamma,  instead  of  troubling  about  me,  thought 
only  of  the  loss  of  her  water-bottle.  She  ran  at 
the  little  fellows  to  beat  them ;  the  two  children 
ran  and  hid  behind  a  door,  where  their  mamma 
pursued  them  with  a  cane ;  papa  rose  to  restrain 
his  wife,  and  I  alone  remained  at  the  table,  wish- 
ing that  I  could  escape  also. 

Finally  my  friend  came  back  to  me  and  said, — 

"  Do  you  take  coffee  sometimes  ?  There  is  none 
ready,  but  I  have  a  coffee-pot  in  which  it  can  be 
made  without  boiling,  and  with  warm  water." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I, "  I  never  take  it ;  besides, 
I  have  already  dined  only  too  well  —  I  need  a  lit- 
tle constitutional,  and  I  really  must  leave  you." 

"  Good-by  for  the  present  then  ;  now  that  you 
know  the  way  I  hope  you  will  sometimes  come 
and  take  potluck  with  us." 


i88     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  Yes,  certainly ;  I  know  the  way  now  and  I 
shan't  forget  to  come,  nor  the  picture  of  domestic 
happiness  that  you  have  allowed  me  to  witness." 

I  took  my  hat  and  went  on  my  way  again. 

A  BACHELOR'S  THOUGHTS  ON 
MARRIAGE 

IF  I  were  married  I  would  give  up  all  those 
extravagant  habits  to  which  a  bachelor  gives  way 
every  day  of  his  life  ;  those  foolish  expenses  which 
often  have  the  saddest  results,  those  restaurant  par- 
ties which  fatigue  the  body  and  deaden  the  mind, 
and  those  acquaintances  who  make  one  laugh  in  the 
evening,  but  whom  one  doesn't  care  to  meet  in  the 
morning. 

If  I  were  married  I  should  want  to  love  my 
wife,  for  I  think  it  must  be  continual  torture  to  live 
with  a  person  whom  one  does  not  love.  I  know 
well  there  are  many  households  where  the  husband 
and  wife  hardly  see  each  other  for  an  hour  a  day ; 
but  it  seems  to  me  it  must  be  much  nicer  to  seek 
one's  wife  than  it  is  to  avoid  her. 

If  I  were  married  I  should  not  care  for  my  wife's 
face,  her  mind,  her  manners,  nor  her  dress,  to  be 
commented  on  ;  however,  I  should  wish  her  to  be 
irreproachable  on  all  those  points. 

If  I  were  married  people  would  not  be  inces- 
santly meeting  me  alone  at  the  theatre  or  on  the 
promenades.  I  should  not  fear  to  be  seen  with  my 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       189 

wife  on  my  arm,  I  should  still  less  fear  the  ridicule 
which  fatuous  and  foolish  men  like  to  cast  on  atten- 
tive husbands;  three  parts  of  these  resemble  the 
fox  in  the  fable,  they  could  not  attain  happiness 
themselves,  and  so  they  try  to  revenge  themselves 
by  sneering  at  happy  people. 

If  I  were  married  I  should  like  to  have  a  nu- 
merous family  of  children,  for  children  are  the  links 
in  the  chain  of  love  that  binds  husband  and  wife. 

If  I  were  married  I  should  like  to  have  a  pri- 
vate room  in  which  I  might  work  quietly ;  but  I 
should  not  wish  to  occupy  it  for  the  whole  twenty- 
four  hours. 

If  I  were  married  I  would  no  longer  run  after 
all  the  women,  because  I  should  have  no  desire 
to  love  any  one  but  my  wife ;  but  I  should  try  to 
be  amiable  to  the  others,  in  order  to  make  them 
envious  of  her  happiness.  I  shall  be  gallant  to- 
wards beauty,  and  I  shall  seek  the  society  of  a  sex 
which  I  shall  always  love,  and  my  wife  will  not  be 
vexed  thereat ;  because,  in  plucking  one  flower  one 
is  not  debarred  from  breathing  the  perfume  of 
others. 

If  I  were  married  I  should  not  be  jealous,  for 
jealousy  causes  ill-temper,  and  ill-temper  puts  love 
to  flight ;  nor  shall  I  be  too  confiding,  for  a  woman 
often  takes  a  man's  confidence  in  her  as  a  mark  of 
his  indifference,  and  perhaps  she  is  not  altogether 
wrong. 

If  I  were  married  I  should  like  to  feel  a  sub- 


190     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

stantial  friendship  for  my  wife,  for  friendship  sur- 
vives love.  I  should  also  wish  her  to  possess  some 
talent,  that  she  should  like  reading  and  music,  for 
a  woman  who  loves  the  arts  has  resources  in  her- 
self and  is  never  lonely,  and  as  a  husband  is  obliged 
to  absent  himself  sometimes,  if  a  wife  is  lonely  it 
is  always  to  be  feared  that  she  will  lend  an  ear  to 
the  distractions  which  are  offered  her. 

If  I  were  married  I  should  not  like  my  wife  to 
have  an  intimate  female  friend  with  whom  she 
would  be  more  often  than  with  her  husband,  and 
to  whom  I  should  have  to  pay  little  attentions  so 
as  not  to  be  sulked  at  by  my  wife. 

If  I  were  married  I  should  be  very  careful  in- 
deed whom  I  received  into  my  house ;  I  should 
very  soon  dispense  with  the  visits  of  those  gentle- 
men who  always  come  when  the  husband  is  out. 
I  should  never  let  my  wife  go  out  with  any  man  but 
myself;  I  would  not  have  those  obliging  friends 
who  are  always  ready  to  offer  their  arms,  and  who 
have  their  pockets  full  of  theatre  tickets,  for  I 
should  remember  everything  that  I  myself  had 
done  as  a  bachelor. 


AN  UNLUCKY  DAY 


are  days  when  everything  seems  to 
J.  smile  on  us,  when  with  a  sane  mind  and  a 
light  heart  we  see  life  through  rose-colored  spec- 
tacles, and  this  happy  temper  has  an  influence  on 
all  our  actions  throughout  the  day.  Everything 
we  do  pleases  us,  we  see  only  amiable  people,  we 
meet  only  pretty  women,  we  neither  hear  nor  read 
nor  say  stupid  things  during  the  whole  course  of 
the  day  ;  that  is  to  say,  a  happy  disposition  and  a 
good  digestion  have  made  us  see  the  best  side  of 
everything. 

But  there  are  also  some  days  when  a  secret  ill- 
luck  seems  to  follow  us.  I  was  probably  under 
this  malign  influence  yesterday. 

I  awoke  with  a  heavy  head,  I  was  sad  without 
knowing  why.  I  laid  it  first  of  all  to  the  weather, 
which  was  frightful  ;  but  yet  in  weather  much 
worse  than  this  I  had  often  laughed  with  my  friends 
or  sung  under  my  sweetheart's  window,  and  then 
I  disturbed  myself  very  little  about  wind  and 
weather. 

I  rose  ;  it  was  impossible  to  find  my  slippers, 
they  were  too  far  under  my  bed.  I  called  Dumont, 
my  old  servant,  he  did  not  come  ;  where  the  devil 
was  he  ?  Gossiping  with  the  porter,  no  doubt. 
I  went  up  to  a  glass  ;  by  Jove  !  how  yellow  and 
heavy-eyed  I  was.  That  was  not  at  all  a  good 
sign. 


192     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

At  length  Dumont  arrived,  he  gave  me  a  news- 
paper, assuring  me  it  was  but  eight  o'clock  and  that 
my  watch  was  fast.  Well,  let's  see  the  news  while 
they  are  getting  my  breakfast  ready. 

"  What  the  devil  did  you  bring  this  up  to  me 
for,  Dumont  ?  the  *  Petites  Affiches,'  that's  not  my 
journal,  you  know  well  that  I  read  the  { Pandore.'  ' 

"  Hang  it,  monsieur,  the  porter  must  have  been 
mistaken,  he  gave  the  other  to  that  actress's  maid, 
the  one  who  lives  on  your  floor." 

"  Go  quickly  and  get  it." 

Dumont  went  and  presently  returned  quite 
scared. 

"  You  won't  get  your  paper  this  morning,  mon- 
sieur ;  it  seems  that  it  says  your  neighbor  wasn't 
good  in  the  new  play  and  the  lady  was  so  angry 
that  she  tore  the  paper  up  and  threw  it  in  the  fire." 

"  That's  very  pleasant  for  me.  My  breakfast, 
quick  !  that  I  may  go  out,  I  have  an  appointment 
on  important  business." 

Just  as  I  am  sitting  down  to  the  table  somebody 
rings  at  my  door ;  a  gentleman  who  comes  from 
the  provinces,  and  whom  I  know  very  slightly, 
but  who,  finding  himself  in  Paris,  imagines  that  he 
owes  me  a  visit.  This  man  is  the  most  talkative 
of  his  species  in  the  world.  He  tells  me  every- 
thing he  has  done  in  a  certain  neighborhood;  he 
informs  me  that  he  has  bought  a  house,  a  farm, 
some  rabbits,  some  turkeys.  And  what  had  all  that 
to  do  with  me.  I  let  him  understand  that  I  had 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       193 

business,  that  I  was  pressed  for  time,  he  led  me 
into  his  garden,  his  pigeon  house,  his  stable ;  he 
did  not  spare  me  a  lettuce.  It  was  noon  before 
he  remembered  that  he  had  business  for  ten  o'clock. 
He  took  his  leave  of  me  at  length  and  I  consigned 
him  to  Dumont. 

My  first  appointment  was  missed.  I  dressed 
myself  to  call  upon  a  pretty  woman ;  I  went  out 
and  I  had  not  taken  ten  steps  when  a  cursed  cab- 
riolet covered  me  with  mud  from  head  to  foot ;  I 
went  back  home  to  change  my  clothing.  Here 
was  another  mishap,  Dumont  had  gone  out  and 
I  had  not  a  key ;  quick  to  a  locksmith's,  I  abso- 
lutely must  get  my  door  opened.  My  porter 
went  off,  and  at  the  expiration  of  three-quarters 
of  an  hour,  which  I  passed  on  the  landing,  he 
brought  me  a  drunkard  who  could  hardly  hold 
himself  up  and  who  wanted,  like  M.  Clainville  in 
the  "  Gageure  imprevue,"  to  tell  me  the  name  of 
all  the  objects  of  which  a  lock  is  composed. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  am  sure  you  are  very  expert, 
but  for  heaven's  sake  open  my  door ;  that  is  the 
best  way  to  prove  your  skill." 

"  Yes,  yes,  monsieur.  Then  there  is  a  hook 
which  will  turn  the  bolt." 

"  Well,  turn  the  bolt,  then,  instead  of  keeping 
me  here." 

The  knave  tried  ten  or  a  dozen  hooks,  he  passed 
an  hour  at  my  lock  and  ended  by  telling  me  he 
must  go  and  get  some  other  tools.  I  was  at  a 

Vol.  XIX 


i94     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

pretty  pass,  for  the  drunkard  was  not  likely  to 
come  back.  But  Dumont  came  in  just  as  I  was 
about  to  break  in  the  door.  I  dressed  again,  and 
went  out,  taking  a  key  this  time.  I  took  a  cab 
and  reached  my  pretty  woman's,  finding  her  sur- 
rounded with  aunts  and  cousins. 

"  I  have  been  alone  all  the  morning,"  she  whis- 
pered to  me  ;  "  I  was  expecting  you." 

This  avowal  filled  me  with  despair.  I  left  her. 
I  was  expected  to  dine  at  a  rich  banker's. 

"  Come  now,"  said  he  when  I  arrived,  "  you 
must  make  some  verses.  I  have  a  young  man  to 
dinner  who  has  just  composed  a  little  poem  on  the 
pleasures  of  country  life,  which  he  assures  me 
treats  of  it  quite  differently  from  Virgil  and  Delille. 
As  for  that  I  am  going  to  put  him  beside  you, 
and  during  dinner  he  will  let  you  hear  a  few 
passages." 

Alas,  it  was  but  too  true,  I  was  beside  a  tender 
nursling  of  the  muses,  who  could  not  pass  me 
mushrooms  or  anchovies  without  accompanying 
them  with  lines  from  his  poem.  If  I  had  at  least 
had  some  one  on  the  other  side  to  indemnify  me ! 
But  no,  it  was  an  aunt  of  the  poet,  who  when  he 
had  done  would  whisper  to  me, — 

"  What  talent,  monsieur !  what  a  misfortune  it 
would  have  been  had  that  man  not  written." 

At  last  the  dinner  was  ended,  but  that  con- 
founded poet  pursued  me  like  my  shadow.  I  sat 
down  to  ecarte  to  avoid  him,  but  my  side  was 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       195 

unfortunate,  I  lost  fifteen  louis  to  a  woman  who 
looked  sour  even  when  she  won.  I  was  going  to 
take  my  leave.  I  felt  myself  held  by  the  arm. 
"Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  see  my  aunt  home," 
said  my  banker  to  me ;  "  her  son  could  not  come 
to  take  her,  but  she  doesn't  live  very  far  from 
here."  So  I  installed  her  in  a  cab  and  all  the  way 
along  I  had  to  hear  her  bewail  the  loss  of  a  dozen 
fishes  at  boston,  while  missing  a  most  magnificent 
chance. 

At  last  she  was  at  home  and  I  presently  reached 
my  own  abode.  I  went  to  bed  cursing  my  day, 
and  the  vexations  I  had  experienced  gave  me  a 
nightmare  all  night. 

LITTLE  BY  LITTLE 

LITTLE  by  little,  according  to  the  old  adage, 
one  comes  to  the  end  of  everything.  As  time 
passes,  in  fact,  we  shall  see  a  good  many  things 
happen,  but  not  always  such  as  we  should  desire. 
Little  by  little  the  child  grows,  his  mind  is  formed, 
and  passions  take  the  place  of  the  play  of  his  early 
infancy ;  presently  ambition  and  the  desire  to  get 
on  drive  away  the  illusions  of  youth ;  then  cares 
and  troubles  usurp  the  place  of  pleasures ;  then 
white  hairs,  which  increase  the  distance  from  love 
but  do  not  always  induce  wisdom ;  then  infirmities, 
old  age  which  has  nothing  but  memories ;  then 
finally  death,  which  is  ever  looming  in  the  distance; 


196     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

all  this  happens  little  by  little,  but  all  is  interwoven, 
nevertheless. 

It  is  little  by  little  that  an  honest  and  industri- 
ous man  enriches  himself;  he  does  not  indulge  in 
risky  speculations  which  might  ruin  his  principals, 
but  he  reaches  an  easy  competence,  and  the  for- 
tune acquired  little  by  little  has  always  a  firmer  basis 
than  that  which  grows  by  chance. 

Little  by  little,  on  the  other  hand,  the  man  who 
does  foolish  things  sees  his  fortune  disappear;  lit- 
tle by  little  the  man  who  ruins  himself  sees  his 
friends  leave  him,  and  those  upon  whom  he  has 
conferred  benefits  shun  him. 

Little  by  little  evil  connections  corrupt  those 
natures  which  were  naturally  good,  just  as  the  habit 
of  excess  at  the  table  will  undermine  the  most  ro- 
bust health.  Little  by  little  weakness  leads  to  vice 
when  one  keeps  bad  company.  A  person  adopts 
the  manners  and  habits  of  those  with  whom  he 
associates ;  and,  having  blamed  them,  you  end  in 
imitating  them.  If  you  see  a  rascal,  little  by  little 
his  sophistry  seduces  you,  his  example  leads  you 
astray,  you  laugh  at  what  would  formerly  have 
made  you  blush,  and  you  glide  towards  an  abyss 
which  little  by  little  will  swallow  you  up. 

It  is  often  little  by  little  that  love  snares  a  heart 
which  has  sworn  to  resist  him.  Young  girls,  a 
skilful  lover  will  employ  means  to  overcome  your 
indifference.  Tender  glances,  sweet  words,  slight 
pressures  of  the  hand,  protestations,  avowals  of 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       197 

fidelity,  he  will  put  all  these  in  use  to  vanquish 
you.  If  you  resist  these  he  will  change  his  tac- 
tics, he  will  become  sad,  melancholy,  he  will  pre- 
tend to  stifle  his  sighs.  You  think  you  will  pay 
no  attention  to  it,  but  little  by  little  you  are  inter- 
ested and  become  in  your  turn  dreamy,  pensive, 
and  uneasy ;  you  begin  to  sigh  in  secret,  and  your 
lover  will  then  become  less  timid.  Little  by  lit- 
tle he  will  obtain  a  slight  favor,  then  a  confession, 
then  a  kiss,  then  your  heart,  which  he  will  wholly 
gain,  although  you  only  let  him  take  it  little  by 
little. 

We  cannot  guard  against  events  which  happen 
suddenly,  in  the  course  of  life  one  cannot  foresee 
the  revolutions  which  are  forming  little  by  little ; 
let  us  use  pleasure  sparingly,  if  we  do  not  wish  to 
ruin  our  health  ;  accord  our  friendship  only  little 
by  little  in  order  that  we  may  be  less  often  de- 
ceived ;  and,  in  love,  give  the  preference  to  that 
happiness  which  we  have  obtained  only  little  by 
little. 

THE   MAN  WHO  WAS  MASTER  IN 
HIS  OWN  HOUSE 

MY  friend  Dupont,  who  is  one  of  the  best  of 
men,  is  always  repeating  (not  before  his 
wife,  you  may  be  sure), — 

"  I  am  master  of  my  own  house,  nothing  is  done 
there  except  by  my  order ;  when  I  have  decided 


198     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

upon  anything  it  has  to  be  so.  I  have  a  mind  of 
my  own  and  stick  to  what  I  say ;  Madame  Dupont 
docs  not  lead  me,  she  does  all  that  I  wish  and 
opposes  me  in  nothing." 

Generally  speaking,  I  have  noticed  that  it  is  well 
to  mistrust  the  firmness  of  those  people  who  talk 
very  loudly  about  their  strength  of  mind ;  they 
resemble  those  brave  men  who  have  never  put 
their  swords  to  the  proof,  those  cowards  who  sing 
when  they  are  afraid,  those  fatuous  fellows  who  are 
always  boasting  of  their  success  with  the  ladies  and 
whom  one  never  meets  with  any  but  saucy  little 
monkey  faces  ;  the  man  who  is  really  master  in  his 
own  house  proves  it  by  his  conduct  and  not  by  his 
speeches. 

My  poor  Dupont,  all  your  firmness  is  of  no 
avail  against  a  glance  from  madame  your  wife  ; 
before  her  you  are  like  a  scholar  before  his  preceptor, 
like  one  who  solicits  a  favor  before  a  man  in  power ; 
but  one  could  forgive  your  pusillanimity  if  you  did 
not,  directly  you  are  out  of  her  sight,  begin  to 
shout  with  your  nose  in  the  air,  "  I  am  master  in 
my  own  house  !  " 

One  day  Dupont  received  an  invitation  to  go  to 
the  wedding  of  one  of  his  friends,  but  they  did 
not  invite  madame,  and  she  said  very  dryly  to  her 
spouse, — 

"  You  will  not  go  to  that  wedding." 

"  I  shall  go,  madame,"  said  Dupont,  "  that  is 
one  of  the  friends  of  my  infancy  ;  he  does  not 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK        199 

know  you,  and  he  could  not  well  invite  you  ;  but 
it  will  make  him  very  unhappy  if  I  fail  him." 

Dupont  invited  me  to  call  for  him  at  five  o'clock 
precisely,  that  we  might  go  together  to  the  restau- 
rant where  they  were  having  the  wedding  festival. 
I  suspected  that  my  errand  would  be  fruitless  ; 
however,  I  was  at  Dupont's  at  the  hour  appointed, 
and  though  he  ought  to  have  been  ready  he  re- 
ceived me  in  his  trousers  and  dressing-gown. 

"  What !  "  said  I,  "  aren't  you  dressed  yet?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  answered,  ferreting  in  all 
the  corners,  "  my  wife  has  gone  out  and  by  mis- 
take she  has  taken  the  key  of  my  room,  and  I  can't 
dress  myself  until  she  comes  back.  Wait  a  bit ! 
I'm  sure  she'll  be  back  immediately,  she  knows  I 
am  not  dressed." 

I  departed  in  spite  of  Dupont's  entreaties,  his 
wife  did  not  get  back  until  eleven  o'clock,  leaving 
her  husband  to  pass  his  evening  walking  about  in 
his  slippers  and  dressing-gown  while  they  were 
expecting  him  at  the  wedding. 

Dupont  was  desirous  of  buying  a  house  in  the 
country ;  he  came  to  get  me  to  go  with  him  to  see 
a  pretty  property  which  he  was  very  much  inclined 
to  become  possessed  of.  We  admired  the  house, 
which  was  very  nice. 

"  Does  your  wife  know  about  it  ? "  said  I  to 
Dupont. 

"  No,  but  it  is  all  the  same  ;  what  pleases  me  is 
sure  to  please  her.  Besides,  am  I  not  the  master  1 " 


200     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

And  the  dear  man  continued  to  look  around, 
saying  as  he  did  so, — 

"  I  shall  have  this  built  there  —  I  shall  have 
that  built  there,  it  will  be  charming,  delightful !  " 

I  laughed  at  Dupont's  plans,  and  he  invited  me 
to  dine  with  him  on  the  following  day. 

"  You  will  praise  this  house  before  my  wife," 
he  said  to  me,  "  and  that  will  give  her  a  desire  to 
have  it ;  not  that  I  need  her  permission,  but  that 
can't  but  do  good." 

But  Madame  Dupont  was  too  clever  not  to 
divine  her  husband's  plans.  To  invite  me  to  dinner 
without  consulting  his  wife  was  a  little  liberty  she 
did  not  allow  Dupont. 

In  fact,  the  next  morning  I  received  a  letter  from 
madame  which  informed  me  that,  her  cook  being 
ill,  she  could  not  have  the  pleasure  of  giving  me 
dinner. 

Since  that  time  Dupont  has  never  again  men- 
tioned the  house  in  the  country,  but  he  still  asserts, 
"I  am  master  in  my  own  house." 

MOVING  DAY 

I  HAD  a  few  days  ago  some  business  matters  to 
finish  in  different  parts  of  Paris ;  I  settled  in  my 
mind  the  order  in  which  I  would  employ  my  day, 
hoping  it  would  suffice  for  all  my  errands  ;  and 
after  breakfasting  I  set  out  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      201 

Hardly  had  I  put  my  foot  on  my  staircase  when 
I  was  stopped  by  a  porter  who  was  taking  down 
an  old  commode,  which  filled  up  the  whole  width 
of  my  staircase  ;  so  I  had  to  wait  till  he  reached 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  which  he  was  some  time 
in  doing,  for  the  piece  of  furniture  was  very  heavy. 
At  last  I  was  in  the  alleyway  and  by  Jove  !  I  was 
caught  between  two  sack-bottomed  beds  and  some 
piles  of  chairs.  How  the  devil  was  I  going  to  get 
through  all  that  ?  I  ventured,  however,  and  put- 
ting one  foot  on  a  foot-warmer  and  the  other  on 
a  stove  I  managed  to  reach  the  street,  where  I  was 
still  further  stopped  by  the  wagon  on  which  they 
were  loading  the  furniture  and  which  made  me  lose 
at  least  ten  minutes. 

"  Deuce  take  it !  "  said  I,  hastening  my  steps  ; 
"  I  must  regain  the  time  lost  if  I'm  to  do  all  that 
I  have  to."  I  started  off  and  soon  reached  the 
Rue  des  Gravilliers,  my  first  stopping-place ;  but 
in  looking  at  my  feet  I  failed  to  see  two  men  who 
were  coming  towards  me  with  a  handbarrow  loaded 
with  furniture ;  I  almost  fell  over  the  handbarrow. 
The  porters  stopped  and  swore  after  me.  I  had, 
they  said,  knocked  a  piece  off  the  corner  of  a  fine 
gilt  frame  ;  they  would  be  made  to  pay  for  this 
damage  and  I  must  pay  them. 

I  wanted  to  send  the  porters  and  their  frame 
walking,  but  I  was  surrounded  by  working-men 
and  they  would  not  allow  that  I  was  in  the  right. 
After  listening  to  some  tall  talk  I  had  to  pay  and 


202     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

felt  that  I  had  better  have  done  so  in  the  first  place. 
I  gave  them  a  twenty-sous  piece,  they  let  me  go 
my  way,  and  this  time  I  looked  carefullybefore  me. 

A  few  steps  further  on  I  saw  two  women  in  front 
of  me  carrying  on  their  backs  pitchers,  brooms, 
saucepans,  and  other  household  utensils.  As  the 
street  was  narrow  and  they  were  walking  side  by 
side,  each  one  holding  by  the  hand  a  string  of 
children,  I  was  obliged  to  walk  slowly  behind  these 
interesting  families  for  five  minutes ;  and  every  time 
I  saw  a  little  gap  by  which  I  thought  I  could  slip 
through,  the  handles  of  the  brooms  or  those  of  the 
saucepans  barred  my  passage. 

Finally  the  two  families  turned  off  into  a  street 
on  the  left,  leaving  me  free  to  move  on.  But  no, 
some  men  were  disputing  in  the  street,  they  were 
two  men  with  handcarts,  who  had  got  their  wheels 
locked  and  were  reciprocally  accusing  each  other  of 
awkwardness  ;  from  swearing  they  came  to  blows. 
The  crowd  closed  in  behind  and  I  felt  myself  pushed 
into  an  alley  by  a  little  woman  who  cried  to  me, — 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  I  can't  bear  to  see  two  men 
fighting,  it  makes  me  ill.  Oh,  the  unfortunate  men, 
how  they  are  hitting  each  other  —  and  there's  one 
of  them  on  the  ground !  Good  heavens,  it's  fright- 
ful. Why  doesn't  somebody  separate  them  ?  Oh, 
one  of  them  has  his  nose  all  cut  ?  I  shall  be  ill ! " 

"  Hang  it,  madame  !  don't  look  at  them,"  said 
I  to  the  curious  woman,  pushing  her  aside  that  I 
might  stand  in  front  of  her. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      203 

"  How  brusque  some  men  are  —  they  have  no 
refinement !  "  she  exclaimed  darting  angry  glances 
at  me.  But  I  left  her,  and  pushing  through  the 
crowd  managed  at  last  to  cross  over  to  the  other 
side  and  reach  the  house  where  I  had  business. 

"  Confound  it !  I  didn't  get  here  without  some 
trouble,"  I  said  to  myself  as  I  went  towards  the 
staircase,  for  the  porter  had  assured  me  that  the 
person  I  was  asking  for  was  at  home.  I  was  in 
a  hurry,  but  hardly  had  I  put  my  foot  on  the  tenth 
step  when  I  was  stopped  by  two  men  who  were 
carrying  up  an  immense  sideboard.  Alas !  had 
they  only  been  coming  down,  but  they  were  going 
up  to  the  fifth  story  and  my  friend  lived  on  that 
floor  and  they  were  stopping  on  every  step  to  take 
breath. 

As  for  me,  I  consulted  my  watch.  I  had  been 
out  for  two  hours  and  I  had  not  yet  accomplished 
a  single  errand.  I  made  up  mind,  I  went  down 
the  stairs  and  decided  to  go  home.  My  business 
had  to  wait  for  some  other  time,  I  had  to  give  up 
the  idea  of  going  about  in  Paris  between  the  eighth 
and  the  fifteenth  of  every  term. 


THE  DINING-ROOM  OF  A 
RESTAURANT 

THERE  are  few  places  that  present  a  vaster 
field  of  observation  for  the  curious  than  the 
public  dining-room  of  a  famous  restaurant  in  Paris. 
Here  are  met  together  men  from  divers  countries 
and  of  different  occupations,  whom  Comus  attracts 
into  one  of  his  temples  for  from  five  to  six  hours. 
Provided  that  your  purse  be  well-filled,  you  may, 
simple  countryman  or  modest  shopkeeper  though 
you  be,  share  the  same  cooking  as  the  great  capi- 
talist, the  brilliant  stock-jobber,  or  the  fashionable 
author. 

This  call  of  the  stomach  brings  men  together 
and  eliminates  distinctions.  Everybody  has  to  eat, 
it  is  necessary  to  great  and  to  small.  Dame  Nature 
in  her  wisdom  has  given  the  same  needs  to  rich 
and  poor,  to  noble  and  peasant,  it  is  man  who  has 
created  ranks,  prerogatives,  distinctions ;  but  up 
to  the  present  they  have  not  been  able  to  regulate 
the  functions  of  the  stomach  nor  cause  the  chief  of 
a  division  to  digest  differently  from  a  modest  copy- 
ing clerk. 

When  I  go  alone  to  a  restaurant,  I  establish 
myself  in  a  dining-room,  and  there,  after  scanning 
the  bill  of  fare,  I  amuse  myself  by  looking  at  the 
people  who  are  seated  about  me.  I  form  my  con- 
jectures as  to  who  and  what  they  are  from  the  man- 
ner in  which  they  conduct  themselves  at  the  table, 

HI 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       205 

and  often  by  their  taste  in  the  way  of  food.  1  put 
my  observations  together,  and  it  is  rarely  that  one  of 
my  neighbors  has  finished  his  dinner  before  I  am 
able  to  say  what  his  fortune  and  occupation  are. 
Certainly,  as  the  bailiff  of  Rossignol  says,  "  It  is 
a  very  innocent  pleasure." 

Yesterday  I  obtained  that  pleasure.  At  five 
o'clock  I  went  into  the  dining-room  of  one  of  our 
best  restaurants.  It  was  crowded,  but  I  found  an 
unoccupied  place  at  a  table,  thanks  to  a  waiter  who 
is  a  protege  of  mine ;  it  is  well  to  have  friends 
everywhere. 

After  looking  at  my  bill  of  fare  I  glanced  around 
me.  On  my  right  were  seated  two  young  men,  on 
my  left  a  lady  and  gentleman,  opposite  a  middle- 
aged  man  with  a  tall  young  man,  both  of  whom 
had  provincial  dress  and  manners ;  a  little  farther 
off  a  stout  gentleman  with  a  rubicund  face  and 
beside  him  a  serious  personage  who  wore  a  decora- 
tion. I  confined  my  observation  to  this  little  circle; 
my  young  neighbors  on  the  right  made  a  good  deal 
of  noise,  they  spoke  loud,  gesticulated,  guyed  the 
waiter,  and  seemed  to  be  in  a  very  hilarious  mood ; 
they  took  oysters  first,  then  madeira.  They  con- 
sulted the  bill  of  fare  to  look  for  the  best  dishes, 
but  they  did  not  look  at  the  column  of  prices.  At 
first  I  imagined  they  were  two  playwrights  who  had 
made  a  hit  the  night  before,  or  who  expected  to 
make  one  tonight,  but  presently  some  phrases  that 
I  heard  made  me  change  my  opinion. 


206     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  I  was  sure  I  should  sell  again  at  a  profit. — 
Some  turbot,  waiter !  " 

"  You've  had  a  lucky  vein  for  some  days  past. 
Some  oil,  waiter  !  " 

"  I  had  betted  on  its  rising.  I  am  never  mis- 
taken. Change  the  wine." 

"  And  that  other  operation,  by  which  I  imme- 
diately gained  seven  hundred  and  twenty  francs 
over  and  above  the  price,  that  wasn't  so  bad  !  We 
must  allow  ourselves  some  Chambertin." 

"  That  young  heir  wants  a  thousand  crowns  at 
the  end  of  the  present  month.  Apple  charlotte 
with  preserves." 

"  I  have  a  splendid  thing  in  view  —  some  jars 
of  cream.  I  must  be  bold.  Bring  some  chocolate, 
waiter  ! " 

I  know  enough  about  them ;  these  gentlemen 
do  business  on  'Change,  they  are  right  to  deny 
themselves  nothing  for  today,  for  who  knows  if 
they  will  have  the  means  to  dine  at  all  tomorrow. 
Let's  see  on  the  left. 

The  gentleman  is  very  attractive,  the  lady  very 
affected  and  full  of  airs ;  she  hardly  answers  him, 
she  will  not  even  deign  to  say  what  she  would  like ; 
he  consults  her  about  each  dish  and  she  answers 
disdainfully, — 

"What  does  it  matter  to  me  ?  I'm  not  hungry." 

She  finds  everything  detestable,  ill-served,  the 
accommodation  bad ;  however,  she  eats  enough  for 
four. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      207 

Poor  young  man,  I  cannot  felicitate  you  on  your 
conquest.  Although  your  lady  puts  on  the  airs  of 
a  princess,  and  despite  her  grave  expression  and 
her  affectation  of  prudery,  which  contrasts  strongly 
with  the  glances  she  casts  at  her  neighbors,  I  fear 
indeed  that  you  have  fallen  into  the  toils  of  an  ad- 
venturess who,  seeing  that  she  has  to  do  with  a 
novice,  wants  to  make  him  pay  dearly  for  the  slight- 
est favors.  She  would  not  accept  a  dinner  in  a 
private  room  ;  she  wants  to  play  the  virtuous,  but 
that  doesn't  deceive  a  man  who  knows  the  world. 
Every  word  this  woman  utters  betrays  her  origin 
and  her  habitual  associates.  Her  manners  show 
through  the  restraint  she  imposes  upon  herself  to 
assume  the  bearing  of  a  respectable  woman.  Let 
us  listen  for  a  moment  to  their  conversation. 
"  Will  you  order  something,  my  dearest  ?  " 
"  Good  Heavens  !  no.  What  does  it  matter 
to  me  what  we  have?  I  haven't  the  slightest 
appetite." 

"  Don't  you  think  this  is  good." 
"What  are  you  thinking  of?  it  is  detestable, 
horrid.     How  dare  they  serve  things  like  this  ? 
It  isn't  fresh." 

"  Waiter,  madame  says  your  fish  is  not  fresh." 

"No  one  else  has  complained  of  it,  monsieur." 

"  Well,  they  must  have  famous  palates  to  think 

this  good.     Ask  for  some  quail  on  toast,"  said 

the  lady. 

"  Waiter,  some  quail  on  toast." 


208     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  Oh,  ask  for  a  small  partridge  too,  I  think  I 
could  eat  some." 

"  Waiter,  a  partridge  !  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  I  could  drink  a  little  drop  of 
champagne  —  good  heavens,  how  badly  one  dines 
at  these  restaurants." 

Poor  young  man,  your  small  fortune  will  hardly 
suffice  for  the  pace  at  which  this  woman  will  lead 
you. 

"  Come,  waiter,  serve  me  at  once,  I've  been 
asking  for  roast  beef,  beefsteak,  plum-pudding, 
brandy." 

"  In  a  minute,  monsieur." 

"  By  Jove,  I'm  in  a  hurry  for  my  dinner  — 
potatoes  and  dry  sherry." 

While  this  gentleman,  whom  from  his  language 
and  tastes  I  perceived  to  be  a  neighbor  from  across 
the  sea,  threw  himself  upon  his  bleeding  beef,  I 
looked  at  the  grave  gentleman  who  was  seated 
beside  him.  The  latter  acted  methodically ;  he 
appeared  to  reflect  on  the  quality  and  virtue  of 
each  particular  dish,  and  weighed  the  reasons  for 
or  against  them  before  ordering.  It  will  astonish 
me  greatly  if  this  gentleman  does  not  turn  out  to 
be  in  diplomacy.  I  am  sure  that  he  sees  what 
grave  consequences  will  result  should  he  order  one 
dish  before  another ;  he  sees  politics  in  turkey  and 
dissimulation  in  a  rice  souffle.  How  he  calculates 
the  order  and  the  price  of  his  dinner,  what  a  noble 
bearing,  what  a  proud  face  as  he  carves  or  pours 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      209 

out  his  wine.  I  don't  know  if  he  is  playing  with 
his  food,  or  if  he  has  an  appetite,  for  he  does  every- 
thing so  formally,  and  it  would  be  impossible  for 
him  to  hold  his  knife  and  fork  in  a  more  distin- 
guished manner. 

Let  us  turn  now  toward  these  two  people  who 
are  seated  at  the  table  at  the  side  ;  I  will  wager 
they  are  father  and  son,  uncle  or  nephew  ;  there 
is  a  family  resemblance  between  them.  Surely 
these  men  don't  belong  to  Paris;  even  if  their 
dress  did  not  show  me  that,  their  conduct  in  this 
room  would  suffice  to  convince  me.  The  two  have 
seated  themselves  at  a  table,  they  dare  not  turn 
round  nor  raise  their  heads,  nor  use  their  handker- 
chiefs, nor  clear  their  throats;  and  they  are  still 
more  afraid  to  eat.  For  an  hour  they  have  been 
holding  the  bill  of  fare  and  passing  and  repassing 
it  between  them  without  ordering  anything. 

At  last  they  have  settled  upon  something ;  but 
they  don't  know  how  to  get  served.  The  elder 
one  calls  in  a  half  whisper, — 

"  Monsieur  —  say  monsieur,  say  master ! " 

The  waiter  does  not  answer  and  the  younger 
man  pulls  his  napkin  as  he  is  passing. 

"  Some  vermicelli  soup,  if  you  please,  monsieur." 

"  For  two  ? " 

"  Why  of  course,  are  there  not  two  of  us  ?  Does 
he  suppose  one  of  us  is  going  to  watch  the  other 
eat?" 

After  the  soup  they  take  as  much  time  to  see 

Vol.  XIX 


210     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

what  else  they  shall  take,  and  later  on  go  through 
the  same  ceremony  with  the  waiter.  I  am  really 
sorry  for  these  countrymen,  who  at  this  rate  will 
not  have  done  their  dinner  before  ten  o'clock  in 
the  evening.  But  they  have  brought  my  omelette 
souffle  and  the  dish  has  struck  admiration  into  the 
hearts  of  the  two  provincials  ;  they  follow  the 
waiter  with  their  eyes  and  this  time  do  not  let  him 
escape  them. 

"  Give  us  some  of  that,"  said  the  younger,  desig- 
nating the  dish  that  is  before  me. 

"  Some  omelette  souffle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  some  of  that  over  there  with  sugar  on  it." 

"  For  how  many  ?  " 

"  Two  dishes  for  each  of  us." 

The  unlucky  men  !  what  will  they  do  with  it  ? 
I  have  a  great  mind  to  tell  them  it  is  too  much. 
But  the  waiter  is  already  some  distance  off.  'Faith, 
let  them  get  out  of  it  as  best  they  can  !  My  young 
neighbors  on  the  right  have  gone  to  the  Bouffes ; 
the  lady  and  gentleman  have  started  for  the  Opera ; 
the  reflective  man  is  taking  his  coffee ;  the  Eng- 
lishman is  just  going  to  have  some  punch  ;  as  for 
me,  I  am  going  to  take  the  air,  and  I  leave  the 
salon  just  as  they  are  placing  before  the  two  coun- 
trymen a  dish  of  omelette  souffle  which  would  suf- 
fice for  a  dozen  people. 


FORTUNATE   CREDULITY 

IS  one  fortunate  in  believing  in  the  sincerity  of 
his  friends  ?  in  the  constancy  of  his  mistress  ?  in 
the  good  faith  of  his  tradespeople  ?  in  the  fidelity 
of  his  servants  ?  Or  is  he  more  fortunate  in  that 
he  is  doubtful  of  everyone?  suspicious  of  all  those 
who  surround  him  ?  and  constantly  looking  out 
for  treachery  and  perfidy  ?  Who,  like  me,  does 
not  believe  that  it  is  better  to  be  confiding  than 
suspicious  at  the  risk  of  sometimes,  often  perhaps, 
being  deceived  ?  For  the  more  one  seeks  to  know 
the  truth,  to  read  men's  hearts,  the  more  one  loses 
illusions  and  chimeras ;  illusions  make  people 
happy,  experience  makes  them  suspicious ;  there- 
fore it  is  well  to  be  credulous,  one  has  everything 
to  gain  by  it. 

As  for  me,  I  am,  I  must  confess,  the  most 
credulous  man  in  all  Paris ;  whether  it  be  of  set 
purpose  or  from  taste,  I  believe  in  everything  and 
in  everybody,  and  I  venture  to  think  I  do  well 
in  so  doing. 

For  me  the  future  is  always  rose-colored.  Fifty 
years  have  I  lived  and  I  firmly  believe  I  shall  live 
as  many  more. 

My  credulity  has,  however,  played  me  some 
bad  tricks.  The  son  of  rich  parents,  I  was  left  an 
orphan  at  eighteen.  They  gave  as  guardian  a 
former  solicitor,  a  Norman.  He  told  me  inces- 
santly that  he  wished  nothing  but  my  good,  that 


2i2      SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

he  was  busied  with  my  interests,  and  I  did  not 
doubt  his  good  faith.  He  had  engaged  me  in  a 
dozen  lawsuits,  upon  what  grounds  I  know  not. 
I  won  them  all,  but  each  time  that  I  did  so  I 
found  my  capital  depleted  fifteen  to  twenty  thou- 
sand francs :  so  that  after  winning  a  dozen  I  found 
myself  reduced  to  a  hundred  louis  income,  six 
months  after  my  parents  had  left  me  ;  but  my  guar- 
dian assured  me  that  I  had  ruined  my  adver- 
saries. I  believed  him  and  thought  myself  very 
fortunate  to  have  kept  something. 

I  went  into  society.  I  made  acquaintances  there, 
—  friends.  Friendship  is  induced  so  quickly  be- 
tween young  men  and  all  who  were  about  me 
evinced  a  very  tender  degree  of  it  for  me.  They 
borrowed  money  of  me,  dipping  into  my  purse  as 
though  it  was  that  of  a  brother.  How  happy  I 
was  at  being  in  the  midst  of  such  devoted  friends, 
for  they  repeatedly  said  to  me, — 

"  You  will  oblige  us  to-day,  we  will  oblige  you 
tomorrow."  In  truth,  I  soon  saw  the  end  of  my 
hundred  louis  of  income,  and  when  I  wanted  to 
dip  into  their  purses  I  found  nothing  there ;  but 
they  showed  so  much  regret  at  being  unable  to 
oblige  me  that  I  was  moved  to  tears. 

Having  obtained  a  place  by  the  intervention  of 
an  amiable  woman,  who  swore  to  me  that  I  owed 
it  only  to  my  abilities,  I  was  not  long  before  I 
was  married.  What  a  woman  I  became  possessed 
of !  She  had  all  the  talents,  or  so  her  mother 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      213 

said  when  she  gave  her  to  me,  and  certainly  I  did 
not  doubt  it. 

From  the  very  first  she  wanted  to  keep  the 
purse,  but  that  was  through  her  sense  of  order. 
She  did  not  allow  me  to  spend  a  sou  without  her 
permission,  but  that  was  through  economy ;  she 
spent  a  good  deal  on  her  dress,  but  that  was  to 
please  me ;  she  went  to  balls  without  me,  but  that 
was  to  spare  my  health ;  she  was  always  accom- 
panied by  one  of  her  cousins,  but  that  was  that  I 
might  be  sure  she  did  not  go  with  others ;  in  fact, 
at  the  end  of  six  and  a  half  months  of  marriage 
she  presented  me  with  a  pretty  little  boy,  but  that 
was  customary  in  her  family,  though  it  never  hap- 
pened except  with  the  first  child. 

How  happy  I  was  with  my  loving  wife !  She 
died,  leaving  me  seven  charming  children,  my 
daughters  wish  to  do  nothing,  my  boys  will  do 
only  what  they  feel  inclined  to,  but  I  am  sure  they 
will  all  make  their  way. 

Fortunate  credulity!  remain  with  me  till  I  reach 
the  grave ;  when  I  was  a  child  I  believed  in  my 
nurse's  tales,  my  governess's  stories ;  later  on  I 
believed  in  the  vows  of  my  friends  and  my  wife ; 
now  I  believe  my  son's  protestations,  the  reserved 
modesty  of  my  daughters,  in  my  housekeeper's 
dreams,  and  in  the  wonders  I  read  of  in  the  news- 
papers. 

Is  there  a  man  more  fortunate  than  I  ? 


THE  TWO  FUNERALS 

ONE  has  one's  happy  days ;  I  include  in  that 
order  those  upon  which  I  meet  on  my  way, 
pretty  women  of  gracious  bearing,  with  tiny  feet  and 
well-turned  ankles;  such  things  as  these  immediately 
put  me  in  a  good-humor.  Nothing  evokes  the 
imagination  like  a  pair  of  fine  eyes.  The  sight  of 
a  seductive  woman  is  not  quickly  effaced  from  my 
memory,  and  my  thoughts  remained  tinged  with 
rose-color  throughout  the  whole  day. 

But  there  are  some  days  when  one  may  traverse 
all  the  neighborhoods  of  Paris  without  meeting  a 
pretty  saucy  little  face  ;  certainly  there  are  some 
ugly  phizzes  which  belong  to  very  amiable  people ; 
but  we  are  only  big  children,  and  we  are  attracted 
first  by  that  which  appeals  to  the  eye.  Some  days 
ago  I  did  not  see  everything  in  rose-color,  for,  as 
I  made  my  peregrinations,  I  was  stopped  on  my 
way  by  two  funerals. 

The  first  was  very  fine  ;  rich  hangings,  silver 
tears,  prancing  horses,  coachmen  with  cuffs  and 
shirt  frills  and  weepers,  a  good  many  mourning 
coaches  followed  by  some  private  carriages ;  the 
procession  was  very  long,  and  there  were  on  foot 
only  some  of  the  servants  of  the  deceased  and  some 
poor  people  carrying  torches. 

"  This  dead  man  was  a  person  of  consideration 
in  his  life,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  he  had  a  carriage 
and  a  number  of  servants,  a  hotel,  no  doubt,  and 

314 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      215 

perhaps  a  fine  house  in  the  country;  he  went  into 
the  best  society,  to  which  he  must  have  added  a 
charm,  especially  if  he  gave  dinners  and  had  a  good 
cook.  Everybody  would  feel  honored  by  his  ac- 
quaintance, he  must  have  had  a  crowd  of  friends." 

Riches  are  a  fine  thing.  One  can  philosophize 
finely  upon  them.  The  rich  man,  even  after  death, 
can  still  cut  a  good  figure,  and  the  last  journey  is 
surrounded  with  the  honors  which  have  embel- 
lished his  existence. 

After  ascertaining  the  name  of  the  deceased,  I 
pursued  my  way  and  a  little  farther  on  I  was  again 
stopped  by  a  funeral ;  this  one  was  more  modest 
than  the  first ;  a  very  simple  hearse,  no  weepers 
on  the  coachman,  not  a  single  mourning  coach ; 
but  instead  more  than  two  hundred  persons  on 
foot  following  the  hearse.  I  did  not  see,  among 
all  those  people,  any  fashionable  or  fine  clothes ; 
but  I  saw  faces  which  indicated  honesty,  kindness, 
and  above  all,  sorrow. 

"  Who  was  the  defunct  ? "  I  demanded  of  an 
old  woman  who  had  bowed  to  some  one  in  the 
funeral  train. 

"  He  was  a  master  mason,"  she  answered,  "  an 
honest  man,  beloved  by  his  children  and  his  work- 
men ;  no  one  knew  till  after  his  death  all  the  good 
he  had  done  during  his  life." 

"  That  is  a  good  hearing,"  said  I  to  myself  as 
I  went  on ;  but  this  funeral  had  not  the  pomp, 
the  magnificence  of  the  first.  Besides  the  rich  man 


216     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

may  also  have  been  beloved  by  those  who  knew 
him — and  the  torches,  the  coaches,  the  silver  tears 
—  all  those  were  very  fine  indeed. 

Some  days  after  this  I  took  a  fancy  to  go  to  the 
cemetery  of  Pere-Lachaise.  As  I  walked  among 
the  graves  I  perceived  a  fine  mausoleum,  on  which 
I  read  the  name  of  the  deceased.  It  was  that  of 
the  rich  man  whose  funeral  I  had  met ;  his  last 
shelter  had  been  made  magnificent,  and  below  his 
name  I  read  a  long  eulogy  on  his  virtues,  his  good 
qualities  in  Alexandrine  verse,  followed  by  the 
regrets  of  his  children  and  of  all  his  family  in  lines 
of  eight  feet. 

After  admiring  this  monument  I  walked  through 
other  paths ;  I  had  gone  some  distance  when  I  saw 
several  young  men  assembled  around  a  tomb.  I 
advanced  softly,  in  order  that  I  might  not  disturb 
them  ;  the  mausoleum  was  very  simple  and  I  read 
on  the  stone  the  name  of  the  master  mason  whose 
funeral  I  had  also  met.  His  name  only  was  there; 
but  before  the  tombstone  I  saw  three  young  men 
on  their  knees,  his  sons  no  doubt,  who,  with  eyes 
filled  with  tears  were  scattering  flowers  on  the  tomb. 

My  heart  constricted ;  I  felt  that  this  homage 
was  preferable  to  all  the  pomp  and  grandeur  of 
the  other.  I  departed  slowly ;  and  as  I  repassed 
the  fine  mausoleum,  I  glanced  but  coldly  at  the 
magnificent  monument,  before  which  the  curious 
only  stopped. 


THE   HABITUES   OF   THE 
ORCHESTRA 

I  LIKE  to  go  to  the  play;  moreover,  I  like  to 
have  a  good  place.  Before  going  to  a  theatre  I 
set  about  inquiring  where  one  can  best  see  and 
hear.  I  insist  upon  the  former  point,  for  I  like 
to  enjoy  the  changing  expression  of  an  actor  and 
the  gracious  smile  of  a  dancer. 

I  have  been  to  all  the  Parisian  theatres,  and  I 
must  confess  there  are  very  few  where  I  have  found 
a  really  good  place.  To  see  and  hear,  some  tell 
me,  there  is  no  better  place  than  the  parquet ;  but 
I  was  quickly  obliged  to  leave  it.  At  the  smaller 
theatres  the  society  in  the  parquet  is  not  always 
choice ;  besides,  it  is  too  noisy ;  and  as  I  like  to 
hear  the  play  I  am  impatient  when  conversations 
are  going  on  around  me.  One  always  has  an  offi- 
cious neighbor  who  relates  in  advance,  to  all  those 
persons  who  are  unfortunate  enough  to  be  near  her, 
all  that  is  going  to  take  place  in  each  scene ;  often 
she  anticipates  the  actors  or  repeats  portions  of 
their  speeches  with  them,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
interminable  commentaries,  the  sententious  reflec- 
tions, which  follow  the  slightest  incident  with 
wearisome  inconsistency. 

At  the  larger  theatres  the  parquet  is  usually 
occupied  by  people  of  a  better  class,  but  it  is  any- 
thing but  quiet ;  quarrels  often  arise  between  those 
who  wish  to  hiss  and  those  who  wish  to  applaud, 


218     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

and  despite  one's  neutrality  one  always  receives 
one's  share  of  the  battle. 

Going  rather  to  the  large  than  the  small  theatres, 
I  first  give  the  balcony  the  preference.  The  so- 
ciety there  is  choice ;  but — would  you  believe  it  ? 
—  people  talk  nearly  as  much  there  as  they  do  in 
the  parquets  at  the  smaller  theatres.  Certainly 
the  conversations  one  hears  do  not  grate  on  the 
ear;  these  are  almost  always  people  of  good  form 
who  express  themselves  with  taste  and  elegance  of 
diction,  and  who  are  often  witty  as  well.  In  spite  of 
that,  as  I  come  to  see  the  play  and  hear  the  music, 
I  am  often  vexed  by  the  recital  of  the  successes  of 
this  one  or  the  conquests  of  that  other,  the  fluc- 
tuations of  the  Bourse,  the  losses  of  M at 

ecarte,  Madame  D 's  last  ball,  and  a  thousand 

other  pretty  things  which  come  to  me  from  right 
and  left,  and  do  not  give  my  poor  ears  a  moment's 
respite,  a  chance  to  hear  the  play. 

Lately  at  the  first  representation  of  a  new  play 
I  tried  the  orchestra,  in  the  hope  that  I  might 
better  enjoy  the  play.  Alas !  I  fell  out  of  Scylla 
into  Charybdis. 

In  the  orchestra  are  placed  those  who  are  called 
habitues,  men  who  have  their  passes  and  who  go 
every  evening  to  the  theatre  just  exactly  as  a  super- 
numerary goes  every  morning  to  his  office.  I 
found  myself  between  two  habitues,  for  the  greater 
part  of  these  gentlemen  are  well  known.  They 
dragged  the  new  piece  on  to  the  carpet,  and  before 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       219 

the  curtain  rose  I  learned  that  it  was  a  detestable 
piece ;  words  and  music  were  both  as  bad  as  they 
could  be. 

"  By  Jove,"  said  I  to  myself, "  I  did  very  wrong 
to  come  here  this  evening.  These  gentlemen  will 
pass  the  actors  and  actresses  in  review  later  on." 
I  learned  all  the  anecdotes  of  the  wings ;  and  in 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  had  heard  of  fifteen  gallant 
adventures  of  which,  perhaps,  the  persons  to  whom 
they  were  attributed  were  entirely  ignorant ;  they 
made  and  undid  several  reputations. 

At  length  the  play  began,  but  each  word  the 
actors  said  was  repeated  by  the  neighbors  with  such 
additions  as  the  following,  "  Common !  flat !  de- 
testable! pitiable!" 

I  confess  the  piece  might  have  been  better ; 
surely  if  these  gentlemen  of  the  orchestra  would 
only  take  the  trouble  to  write  a  play  it  would  be 
perfect  in  all  points,  for  they  are  too  keen  as  critics 
to  fall  into  the  errors  they  deplore ;  but  during  the 
whole  representation  my  heart  was  smitten  with 
pity  for  the  poor  author,  criticised  by  such  severe 
judges,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  never  again  to 
take  a  place  in  the  orchestra. 


COLUMBINE  AGAINST  HER  WILL 

OR 

A  CARNIVAL  ADVENTURE 

WHAT  a  crowd  is  hurrying  beneath  these  por- 
ticos, what  noisy  shouts  awaken  the  echoes 
of  this  peristyle.  It  is  toward  one  of  the  temples 
erected  to  folly  that  all  these  people  are  precipitately 
wending  their  way.  Poor  humanity,  hasten  to 
enjoy  yourselves,  your  time  for  pleasure  is  all  too 
short. 

We  are  at  the  entrance  to  the  bal  d'Opera.  An 
Arab  pushes  the  Grand  Turk,  who  humbly  begs 
a  Savoyard  to  make  way  for  him;  Madame  Angot 
takes  precedence  over  a  German  princess ;  a  shep- 
herd insults  a  marquis,  while  a  fishwife  makes  soft 
eyes  at  a  troubadour.  A  chief  of  brigands  keeps 
apart,  for  fear  of  being  crowded,  and  an  ingenue 
dashes  bravely  into  the  midst  of  the  crush,  drag- 
ging with  her  two  Circassian  maidens,  to  whom  she 
says  in  a  hoarse,  raucous  voice,  "  Do  as  I  do,  let 
yourself  go." 

I  decide  to  do  like  the  ingenue  and  I  let  my- 
self go,  the  crowd  bears  me  along  and  I  find  myself 
in  the  precincts  devoted  to  folly ;  music  adds  to 
the  delirium  which  seems  to  animate  some  mas- 
quers ;  dance  tunes  mingle  with  the  continual  buz- 
zing of  the  voices  around  me.  People  walk  and 
push  and  elbow  each  other ;  but  they  talk  to  each 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       221 

other  in  familiar  terms  and  this  promotes  merri- 
ment. Here  one  may  say  what  one  likes  with 
impunity  to  a  great  nobleman ;  the  slave  laughs  at 
his  master,  the  negro  and  white  man  are  equal ; 
the  great  lady  goes  into  a  little  box  with  a  jockey, 
and  more  than  one  fool  with  cap  and  bells  offers 
ices  to  a  sultana. 

But  who  is  this  Columbine  who  is  walking  about 
alone,  and  who  so  often  comes  back  to  the  same 
place,  where  she  seems  to  be  waiting  for  some  one  ? 
This  young  woman,  girl  or  widow  (history  is  not 
explicit  as  to  that),  after  dazzling  the  world  in  an 
elegant  tilbury,  after  having  her  box  at  the  Bouffes, 
her  bath-house  at  Feydeau,  and  several  lackeys  at 
her  command,  to  say  nothing  of  her  admirers, 
whose  number  was,  they  say,  infinite,  had  experi- 
enced a  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel;  her  admirers  had 
gone  to  burn  incense  before  other  goddesses,  and 
as  a  consequence  her  brilliant  following  diminished ; 
no  more  boxes,  carriages,  jewels,  servants  —  and 
yet  the  lady  was  still  pretty,  but  fortune  is  capri- 
cious and  love  resembles  it. 

At  the  time  of  the  carnival  of  that  year  there 
remained  to  this  dame  but  a  single  gown  fresh 
enough  to  adorn  her  charms ;  it  was  the  anchor 
of  her  misfortune.  In  this  dress  she  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  an  Englishman  at  one  of  the  little 
theatres,  he  became  smitten  with  her  charms  and 
told  her  so  as  elegantly  as  was  possible  to  a  man 
who  spoke  broken  French.  The  Englishman 


seemed  rich  and  generous,  she  listened  to  him  fav- 
orably and  accorded  him  the  meeting  he  desired, 
where  she  hoped  to  finish  turning  his  head. 

He  was  to  see  her  at  the  Opera  ball. 

"How  will  you  be  dressed?"  demanded  milord. 

"  As  Columbine,"  answered  the  lady,  who  knew 
that  costume  was  very  becoming  to  her. 

"  Columbine,  very  well,  I  understand  ;  Colum- 
bine is  very  fashionable,  I  shall  not  forget  it ;  and 
where  shall  I  find  you  ?  " 

"  Near  the  orchestra.  I  shall  put  a  pink  ribbon 
on  my  arm ;  besides  I  shall  recognize  you,  you 
will  not  mask." 

"  No,  I  never  mask  my  face,  it's  bad  for  the 
digestion.  You're  deuced  pretty !  I  shall  dream 
all  night  of  Columbine." 

They  parted.  Our  belle  was  delighted,  she  al- 
ready saw  herself  again  in  a  brilliant  hotel  with  new 
carriages  and  jewels  and  servants,  for  milord  had 
made  the  most  tempting  offers  ;  she  even  counted 
on  following  him  to  England.  She  passed  the 
night  in  studying  the  difference  of  the  currency  in 
London  and  went  to  sleep  repeating:  "I  love  you 
forever." 

The  next  day  she  had  to  busy  herself  in  study- 
ing how  she  might  procure  a  fancy  dress  to  go  to 
the  ball.  She  possessed  nothing  but  a  shawl  and 
a  gown ;  but  an  obliging  neighbor  carried  those 
two  articles  to  one  of  those  houses  which  are  so 
useful  to  the  unfortunate.  Meanwhile  our  young 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      223 

woman,  having  only  a  short  skirt  and  a  white  cor- 
set, was  still  building  her  castles  in  the  air. 

The  friend  returned ;  she  had  hired  a  very  pretty 
Columbine's  costume,  and  had  enough  money  left 
to  hire  a  cab  and  buy  a  ball  ticket ;  that  was  all 
that  was  needed ;  the  future  was  rose-colored. 

The  hour  for  going  to  the  ball  had  at  length 
come.  Columbine  was  ready ;  she  looked  com- 
plaisantly  at  herself,  she  thought  herself  charming, 
seductive,  ravishing.  She  must  turn  the  heads  of 
the  three  kingdoms.  She  got  into  the  cab  and 
reached  the  Opera.  The  crowd  was  immense,  but 
at  last  she  reached  the  appointed  place.  She  looked 
around  —  no  milord.  He  was  walking  about,  no 
doubt.  The  night  passed,  milord  did  not  come. 
Poor  Columbine! 

Quite  intoxicated  by  his  success  and  taken  up 
with  his  conquest,  the  Englishman  had  gone  to 
some  of  his  countrymen  and  told  of  his  good  for- 
tune, and  these  gentlemen  had  gone  to  Beauvil- 
liers,  from  whence  they  expected  to  go  to  the  Opera 
to  admire  the  beauty  who  had  proved  so  seductive 
to  milord. 

But  what  with  deep  drinking  to  the  health  of  this 
beauty  and  to  that  of  a  good  many  others,  and  what 
with  wishing  to  make  themselves  a  trifle  lively, 
that  they  might  be  more  amiable  to  the  ladies, 
these  gentlemen  had  ended  by  going  to  sleep  on 
the  table  —  what  with  punch  and  champagne  — 
and  milord  did  not  awaken  until  Ash  Wednesday. 


224     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

As  to  Columbine,  obliged  to  regain  on  foot  her 
room  in  a  modest  lodging  house,  the  poor  little 
thing  could  not  get  back  either  her  shawl  or  her 
gown  the  next  day ;  and  she  was  forced  to  keep 
on  her  Columbine's  dress,  although  the  costume 
had  lost  all  charm  in  her  eyes, 

DREAMS 

OUR  good  ancestors  believed  in  dreams,  in  vis- 
ions, in  cards,  in  spirits,  in  black  magic  and 
white  magic,  and  in  a  thousand  sorceries  each  one 
more  frightful  than  the  others.  It  is  true  that  in  the 
time  of  our  good  ancestors  sorcerers  were  very  com- 
mon. They  burned  any  quantity  of  them,  and 
still  they  turned  up  at  every  corner.  Since  they 
no  longer  burn  them,  one  no  longer  hears  tell  of 
them;  it  would  seem  that  these  people  liked  to  be 
grilled. 

We  are  less  credulous  than  our  fathers ;  how- 
ever, the  marvellous  has  still  charms  for  us,  and 
though  we  are  rather  incredulous  as  to  spirits  we 
are  not  yet  totally  indifferent  as  to  the  meaning  of 
dreams.  A  bad  dream  sometimes  leaves  a  sad 
impression  on  our  mind  ;  and  there  are  many  peo- 
ple who  are  greatly  affected  by  them  and  who  look 
upon  a  dream  as  a  warning  which  it  is  urgent  to 
have  explained,  in  order  that  they  may  not  be  sur- 
prised at  events. 

Ladies, above  all,  place  much  reliance  on  dreams ; 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      225 

anything  that  has  a  touch  of  the  marvellous  pleases 
their  imagination,  jaded  by  seeing  in  reality  only 
the  most  ordinary  things. 

In  all  times  dreams  have  had  their  interpreters, 
and  it  was  in  this  occupation  that  the  chaste  Joseph 
won  his  brilliant  fortune;  necromancers  do  not 
make  their  way  so  quickly  now-a-days,  but  people 
still  consult  them,  and  in  default  of  them  there  are 
a  score  of  books  which  give  you  in  categorical  suc- 
cession the  key  to  the  "stuff"  of  which  your 
dreams  are  made. 

I  have  an  old  neighbor  who  ruined  herself  by 
investing  in  the  lottery  according  to  the  numbers 
which  her  dreams  gave  her,  which,  however,  does 
not  prevent  her  having  as  much  confidence  as  ever 
in  her  dreams.  Lately,  having  had  the  misfortune 
to  mention  to  her  that  I  had  had  a  most  singular 
dream,  she  insisted  upon  my  giving  her  the  details 
that  she  might  interpret  them. 

"Well,"  said  I,  "  if  I  must  tell  you,  I  dreamed 
I  was  on  the  sea  and  yet  I  was  a  horse ;  I  was  fly- 
ing, and  yet  I  had  neither  wings  nor  a  balloon." 

"  Good  heavens,  monsieur,"  said  she,  drawing 
a  little  book  from  her  pocket  —  what  a  number  of 
things  she  had  in  it !  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
exactly  what  all  that  means.  The  sea,  monsieur, 
is  joy,  and  shows  that  you  will  easily  be  successful 
in  all  that  you  undertake  ;  the  horse  is  prosperity, 
expedition,  brilliancy  ;  to  fly,  monsieur,  oh,  I 
know  that  by  heart  —  to  fly  signifies  that  a  person 

Vol.  XIX 


226     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

will  raise  himself  above  his  rivals,  that  he  will  attain 
a  high  position.  Your  dream  is  magnificent; 
something  fortunate  must  surely  happen  to  you 
to-day." 

I  thanked  my  neighbor  and  begged  her  to  lend 
me  for  a  moment  the  precious  book  which  taught 
the  interpretation  of  dreams.  These  works  rarely 
exhibit  brilliancy  in  their  ideas  or  style,  but  those 
things  would  be  quite  lost  on  their  readers,  who 
would  understand  nothing  that  was  written  in  a 
romantic  style.  I  read  in  this  one  that  when  one 
dreams  of  a  bear,  one  is  sure  to  meet  some  beast 
on  his  way ;  and  as  it  is  extremely  rare  to  pass 
a  day  without  meeting  a  beast  of  one  sort  or 
another,  I  do  not  doubt  but  that  the  interpretation 
is  always  correct.  I  saw  that  to  dream  of  jumping 
over  a  ditch  denoted  that  one  would  have  a  fall, 
and  that  to  dream  that  one  saw  partridges  was  a 
sign  that  one  would  form  a  pleasurable  connection 
with  a  lady.  I  was  quite  surprised,  I  will  confess, 
to  find  that  there  was  any  connection  between  par- 
tridges and  women.  In  short  I  read  many  marvel- 
lous things  and  I  returned  the  book  to  my  neighbor 
quite  proud  of  having  obtained  the  key  to  a  good 
many  dreams.  But  here  you  see  how  unlucky  I 
was ;  even  on  this  day  that  I  had  had  such  a  beauti- 
ful dream  I  slipped  on  my  staircase,  and  in  falling 
I  made  a  great  bump  on  my  forehead. 

"  Well,  now,"  said  I  to  my  neighbor,  as  I 
showed  her  my  poor  head,  "  how  can  you  explain 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      227 

this  accident?  You  assured  me  that  something 
fortunate  would  happen  to  me." 

"  Why,  monsieur,  it  seems  to  me  you  ought  to 
be  contented;  you  might  have  killed  yourself  and 
you've  only  got  a  bump  on  your  forehead." 

"  I  see  that  you  are  right,"  I  answered,  "  but  I 
must  confess  to  you  that  I  should  not  like  to  have 
such  good  luck  very  often." 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  FISHING 

MONSIEUR  BERTRAND  was  extremely 
fond  of  the  sport  of  fishing  and  pretended  to 
be  an  adept  in  catching  fish.  He  had,  so  he  said, 
done  more  wonderful  things  with  a  fishing-line  than 
had  been  done  since  the  Revolution.  But  I  am  as- 
sured that  all  fishermen  are  given  to  stretching  the 
truth.  However,  M.  Bertrand  ought  to  have  known 
something  about  fishing,  because  for  some  ten  years 
past  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  the 
Arsenal  ditches,  when  they  had  any  water  in  them  ; 
he  passed  his  whole  vacation  there,  either  to  watch 
the  fish  or  dig  for  angleworms  in  the  ground. 
When  he  had  been  the  youngest  clerk  in  an  attor- 
ney's office,  Bertrand,  instead  of  taking  the  sum- 
monses, the  notices,  and  requisitions  to  the  sheriff, 
would  go  and  establish  himself  on  the  Pont  Neuf 
with  a  big  reel  to  which  he  had  affixed  his  line 
and  fishhooks,  and  the  head-clerk  used  to  come 
and  lead  him  off  by  the  ear,  because  M.  Bertrand 


228     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

would  forget  all  about  his  duties  for  a  tench  or  a 
barbel. 

As  he  grew  older  M.  Bertrand  had  not  lost  his 
taste  for  fishing ;  with  him  it  was  a  passion.  A 
simple  clerk  in  a  government  office,  he  had  only 
Sunday  upon  which  to  take  his  ease  and  his  pleasure, 
but  he  never  passed  one  without  going  to  estab- 
lish himself  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  except  when 
the  weather  was  too  rainy  to  disturb  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  deep.  Suresnes,  Nogent,  Saint-Cloud, 
Sevres,  Passy,  Autueil,  Saint-Ouen,  Saint-Denis, 
in  fact,  all  the  outskirts  of  Paris  where  there  is  fish- 
ing to  be  had  had  been  visited  by  M.  Bertrand, 
who  went  as  soon  as  the  sun  rose  to  establish  him- 
self with  his  line  and  his  basket  on  the  banks  of 
the  Seine,  and  usually  stayed  there  until  the  going 
down  of  that  orb. 

At  forty  M.  Bertrand,  who  was  perhaps  tired 
of  fishing  alone,  thought  he  would  take  a  compan- 
ion. A  young  lady  of  twenty-eight  accepted  the 
homage  of  his  heart ;  he  was  careful,  however,  to 
warn  her  that  he  was  a  great  fisher,  but  that  did 
not  daunt  the  damsel,  who  perhaps  really  thought 
that  he  would  supply  her  table  with  fish.  The 
poor  woman  soon  knew  what  to  expect ;  every 
Sunday  she  had  to  follow  her  husband  to  his  fish- 
ing, and  she  could  not  even  talk  to  him,  for  the 
least  noise  would  frighten  the  fish.  M.  Ber- 
trand got  in  a  very  bad  temper  when  he  caught 
nothing,  and  invariably  said  it  was  his  wife's  fault. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      229 

The  latter  presented  her  spouse  with  a  son,  whom 
he  brought  up  to  go  and  dig  for  angleworms  and 
search  for  crayfish. 

In  the  most  overpowering  heat,  as  soon  as 
M.  Bertrand  had  time,  they  must  set  out  and  walk 
at  least  two  leagues,  for  the  fish  will  not  stay  near 
Paris ;  at  least,  so  say  the  fishers.  Monsieur  car- 
ried his  rod,  line  and  hooks;  madame  carried  a 
basket  on  her  arm,  in  which  to  put  the  fish ;  and 
Fanfan  closed  the  procession  with  a  napkin  con- 
taining some  provision  for  their  lunch. 

M.  Bertrand  chose  his  place,  then  ordered  the 
deepest  silence.  His  wife  must  not  even  read, 
because  she  would  make  a  noise  in  turning  over 
the  leaves.  Fanfan  must  not  even  cough,  under 
penalty  of  eating  none  of  his  papa's  fish.  Soon 
the  sun  reached  the  spot  where  the  Bertrand  fam- 
ily was  seated.  The  wife  and  the  little  boy  were 
stifling  and  demanded  that  they  should  go  farther 
off,  but  M.  Bertrand  was  undaunted  and  asserted 
that  the  place  was  too  good  to  leave.  However, 
it  was  half-past  one,  they  had  been  there  since  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning  and  the  fisherman  had  not 
even  caught  a  gudgeon. 

"  I'm  hungry,"  said  Fanfan. 

"  Hush !  silence.  Be  quiet,  will  you,"  said 
M.  Bertrand,  casting  out  his  line  a  little  farther. 

"  But,  papa  —  " 

"  Fanfan,  if  you  talk,  you  shall  be  whipped 
when  we  get  home.  Ah,  I  think  I  felt  something." 


230     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  But,  my  dear,  this  child  is  hungry." 

"  He  will  eat  all  the  more  dinner.  Silence, 
Madame  Bertrand,  you've  made  me  lose  a  good 
haul." 

"  We  shall  roast  here,  the  sun  is  so  scorching." 

"Why,  madame,  I  am  in  the  sun,  as  you  are, 
I  say  nothing.  Hush,  the  water  is  disturbed.  Ha ! 
This  time  I  have  something !  " 

M.  Bertram  pulled  in  his  line  and  for  the  third 
time  he  fished  out  a  bundle  of  reeds.  At  length, 
at  five  o'clock  in  the  evening,  he  had  taken  a  bar- 
bel and  three  little  white  fishes. 

"  Is  that  enough  to  make  a  stew  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  said  his  wife,  whose  only  de- 
sire was  to  get  away.  They  went  to  the  village, 
went  into  a  restaurant,  the  landlord  of  which  smiled 
sneeringly  when  he  saw  the  fish  they  had  brought, 
and  to  accommodate  them  he  charged  them  twice 
as  much  as  he  would  have  done  had  he  furnished 
the  fish  himself.  But  while  dining  M.  Bertrand 
incessantly  repeated, — 

"  It  is  delicious  eating,  the  fish  of  one's  own 
catching ;  how  fresh  it  is  !  " 

But  Madame  Bertrand  said  to  herself  as  they 
returned  to  Paris, — 

"  If  I  had  a  daughter,  the  poor  child  should  not 
marry  a  fisherman." 


A  FANCY-DRESS  BALL 

SOME  days  before  mid- Lent  I   received  the 
following  note : — 

You   are  invited  to   come   and  pass  Thursday  evening  at 

M 's.      He  will  have  a  piano  and  violins  for  those  who  are 

desirous  of  performing  on  those  instruments.  You  may  come 
masked  or  unmasked,  disguise  is  not  obligatory  ;  there  will  be 
numberless  diversions.  The  evening  will  finish  with  two  pies  ; 
those  persons  who  do  not  arrive  before  ten  o'clock  will  have  no 
supper. 

The  wording  of  this  invitation  and  the  signature 
of  the  one  who  sent  it  decided  me  immediately  to 
spend  the  evening  as  suggested.  The  man  who 
was  to  give  the  party  was  an  old  bachelor,  who  was 
in  very  easy  circumstances,  living  on  his  means, 
having  retired  from  business  for  some  time  past, 
and  thinking  now  of  nothing  but  pleasure;  he  liked 
everybody,  but  he  liked  those  who  were  connected 
with  the  world  of  art  especially,  because  he  realized 
that  their  company  was  more  pleasing  than  that  of 
other  people.  So  he  always  did  his  best  to  amuse 
them  when  he  entertained  them  at  his  house,  where 
the  guests  were  invariably  made  to  feel  at  home, 
and  perfectly  at  their  ease. 

Such  was  the  host  of  the  evening  ;  we  may  add 

that  M was  ambitious  of  being  considered  a 

joker,  he  loved  to  play  tricks  and  engage  in  all 
kinds  of  buffoonery.  Nor  were  his  jokes  always 
happy ;  but  it  was  precisely  this  which  gave  me 


232     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

the  desire  to  go  to  his  ball ;  for  I  was  quite  sure 
that  the  master  of  the  house  meditated  some  tricks 
which  should  amuse  the  company. 

The  only  matter  that  troubled  me  was  what  dis- 
guise I  should  assume.  Should  I  go  in  costume  ? 
Why  then  I  should  have  to  sustain  the  character 
I  should  take,  play  the  part  of  some  personage, 
speak  and  move  and  amuse  other  people.  Now 
I  thought  it  vastly  more  agreeable  to  amuse  my- 
self—  I  much  preferred  being  a  spectator  to  being 
an  actor.  Therefore  I  should  not  disguise  myself. 

So  here  I  was  before  M 's  house,  where  there 

were  neither  lanterns  nor  a  guard  municipal  at  the 
door  ;  but  nothing  was  in  question  here  but  a  bour- 
geois ball. 

I  went  into  the  court ;  the  porter  and  all  the 
maids  of  the  house  had  gathered  in  front  of  his 
lodge ;  probably  these  people  were  watching  the 
arrival  of  the  masqueraders  who  were  coming  to 
the  ball. 

The  porter,  who  came  out  of  his  lodge  with  a 
baby  and  a  boot  on  his  arms,  exclaimed, — 

"  What !  a  gentleman  going  to  the  ball  and  not 
disguised !  " 

"  Have  you  been  ordered  to  let  none  but  those 
who  are  masked  go  up  ?  " 

"  That  wasn't  what  I  meant  to  say.  But  it  is 
much  funnier  when  they  are  disguised.  Up  there 
are  already  two  Lonjumeau  postilions  and  some 
peasants  and  shepherds  with  Greek  kilts.  The 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      233 

postilion's  costume  is  very  pretty,  indeed.  When 
my  little  fellow  has  been  vaccinated  I  shall  dress 
him  like  that  every  Sunday  and  take  him  to  see 
his  godmother." 

I  listened  no  further  to  the  porter,  I  went  up 
the  staircase  to  the  fourth  floor,  which  was  my  des- 
tination ;  I  thought  I  had  got  there,  and  I  rang  the 
bell ;  nobody  opened,  but  the  key  was  in  the  door 
and  I  went  in.  I  was  surprised  to  see  no  one  in 
the  antechamber,  which  was  lit  by  a  single  lamp. 
Had  I  come  too  early  ?  But  no  !  it  was  nearly  ten 
o'clock;  and  it  was  but  a  small,  unceremonious 
affair.  I  decided  to  open  a  door  that  was  in  front 
of  me;  I  took  a  few  steps  forward,  some  one  uttered 
the  most  terrifying  shrieks  ;  I  looked  around,  the 
cries  became  louder  still  and  I  saw  a  lady,  middle- 
aged  and  dressed  very  coquettishly,  who  held  a  large 
net  in  her  hand  and  some  ringlets  of  a  very  fine 
black,  which  were  probably  intended  to  hide  the 
gray  hairs  which  I  saw  at  this  moment. 

I  could  not  make  my  excuses  deep  enough  ;  but 
this  lady  appeared  overwhelmed  at  having  been 
seen  without  her  net  and  her  front ;  she  looked  as 
though  she  were  about  to  faint;  I  was  going  to 
help  her,  when  her  chambermaid  came  running 
behind  me,  exclaiming, — 

"  Madame,  the  hairdresser  is  coming,  he  is  still 
with  Madame  Feodille,  who  has  pulled  her  hair 
down  twice  after  he  had  done  it  up  because  she  did 
not  think  it  becoming.  The  poor  hairdresser;  for 


234     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

her  to  treat  him  so  ill  after  trying  to  make  her  look 

*-L    » 
pretty. 

"Good  heavens,"  ejaculated  I,  seeing  the  mis- 
take I  had  made  ;  "  am  I  notat  Monsieur  M 's 

then  ?  " 

"  No,  monsieur,"  answered  the  chambermaid, 
"it's  the  same  door  on  the  next  floor." 

The  lady  to  whom  I  had  addressed  myself  did 
not  answer,  she  had  gone  to  hide  herself  in  the 
back  of  the  room.  I  hastened  to  leave,  while  the 
chambermaid  laughed  at  my  awkwardness.  I  went 
up  one  more  flight ;  this  time  I  was  really  at  the 
ball.  I  could  hear  the  sound  of  the  music  already. 
I  went  in ;  an  enormously  stout  Turk  came  run- 
ning to  meet  me ;  it  was  the  master  of  the  house. 
Imagine  a  very  fat  little  man  whose  nose  was  almost 
hidden  by  two  cherry-red  cheeks  above  which  were 
two  little  green  eyes,  which  he  rolled  incessantly, 
and  scraps  of  eyebrows  which  threatened  to  invade 
his  forehead.  Now  dress  this  personage  in  wide 
trousers  in  big  folds,  a  little  velvet  jacket  adorned 
with  spangles,  which  was  cut  up  at  the  back  and 
only  just  came  down  over  his  shoulders ;  put  a  great 
cashmere  sash  around  his  middle,  and  an  immense 
turban  on  his  head,  and  you  will  have  our  host. 
He  looked  at  me  for  some  moments,  then  he  broke 
into  laughter, — 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  I'm  a  Turk,  my  dear  fellow.  I 
am  stifling  in  this  costume,  but  what  of  that  ?  we 
must  amuse  ourselves.  How  do  you  think  I  look?" 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       235 

"  You  look  like  one  of  those  rocking  figures." 

"  Don't  I?  ha!  ha!  we  shall  do  some  laughing. 
Come  in,  my  dear  fellow,  they  are  dancing  already 
in  there.  Oh,  we  shall  have  some  fun;  I'm  just 
in  the  mood  for  it,  for  one." 

"Tell  me,  have  you  invited  your  neighbor  on  the 
floor  beneath  to  come  to  your  ball." 

"Yes,  she  is  a  very  pleasing  person  and  still 
very  good-looking.  But  you'll  see  her  —  a  bru- 
nette with  beautiful  hair." 

I  knew  all  about  his  neighbor's  hair;  but  I  did 
not  think  fit  to  undeceive  our  old  bachelor,  and  I 
went  into  the  drawing-room.  The  orchestra  was 
playing  loudly.  Beside  the  piano  they  had  two 
young  men  who  played  the  violin,  a  little  gentle- 
man who  breathed  desperately  into  a  flute,  and  a 
big  jolly  fellow  who  with  his  cornet  seemed  to  be 
trying  to  make  more  noise  than  all  the  rest.  There 
were  not  many  people  there  as  yet;  the  dancers 
were  four,  two  of  whom  were  little  girls  of  six  and 
seven  years  of  age,  dressed  like  shepherdesses, 
who  were  hopping  about  right  and  left  under 
everybody's  feet;  then  a  very  large  powerful  woman 
dressed  as  a  sultana,  who  was  making  every  effort 
to  show  a  gentleman  of  forty  how  to  dance  a  galop, 
who  do  what  she  would  maintained  a  comic  grav- 
ity and  danced  a  galop  just  as  though  it  were  a 
minuet,  despite  all  her  efforts  to  animate  him. 

I  looked  around  me.  In  the  embrasure  of  a 
window  were  two  gentlemen  who  held  themselves 


236     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

as  stiff  as  pokers,  seeming  to  fear  that  the  least 
movement  on  their  part  would  derange  some  part 
of  their  disguise.  They  were  dressed  as  Chinese ; 
their  costumes  were  very  fine ;  robes,  trousers, 
sashes  were  all  fresh  and  brilliant ;  nothing  was 
lacking  to  their  toilet ;  from  head  to  foot  they 
were  got  up  quite  like  real  Chinamen.  I  asked 
my  fat  Turk  who  these  men  were. 

"  They  are  very  rich  men ;  each  of  them  has 
several  houses  in  Paris  —  they  are  two  brothers 
whose  signature  is  very  highly  esteemed  at  the 
Bourse." 

"  That's  all  very  well,  but  are  they  amiable, 
cheerful  ? " 

"  Yes,  they  are  very  rich ;  they  have  fine  cos- 
tumes, haven't  they  ?  " 

"  So  far  as  that  goes  their  costumes  are  magnifi- 
cent !  But  why  are  they  so  silent  ?  " 

"  I  imagine  they  will  get  going  later  on." 

"  Have  they  been  here  long  ?  " 

"  For  more  than  an  hour  they  have  both  been 
sitting  like  that  —  legs  crossed  and  finger  in  the 
air,  a  Chinese  pose,  in  fact,  and  they  have  never 
stirred." 

"  Hang  it !  those  two  jolly  fellows  will  amuse 
themselves." 

I  saw  at  a  few  steps  from  me  a  gentleman  dressed 
like  a  marquis  and  another  attired  as  a  chevalier 
who  were  sustaining  an  animated  conversation.  I 
approached  them,  thinking  that  they  were  acting 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      237 

in  accordance  with  the  spirit  of  their  role  and  I 
heard  the  following  dialogue, — 

"  I  tell  you,  monsieur,  that  the  milkwomen  can- 
not station  themselves  in  the  shops,  it  would  be 
very  nice  for  the  shopkeepers  really ;  my  nephew 
is  a  perfumer  and  has  a  very  pretty  shop  in  the 
Rue  Saint-Denis.  A  milkwoman  carried  on  her 
business  at  a  few  steps  from  him  ;  she  wanted  to 
carry  all  her  boxes  and  her  little  jars  into  his  shop, 
that  would  have  been  a  pretty  thing  for  him. 
There  is  nothing  dirtier  than  these  milkwomen 
with  all  their  paraphernalia.  How  pleasant  it 
would  have  been  for  people  coming  to  buy  Por- 
tugal water  and  almond  paste  to  thread  their  steps 
among  a  lot  of  milkwoman's  jars.  My  nephew 
sent  her  away  very  quickly." 

"  And  where  would  you  have  these  poor  women 
station  themselves?" 

"  Under  carriage  entrances." 

"  Under  carriage  entrances  !  you  must  be  jok- 
ing, I  think.  Why  I  have  a  very  well-kept  house, 
perfectly  safe  ;  my  porter  never  lets  any  visitors  in 
until  he  is  perfectly  sure  where  they  are  going,  and 
you  would  allow  a  milkwoman  to  establish  herself 
in  my  gateway  that  she  should  serve  out  her  milk 
there  and  receive  all  her  customers,  all  the  maids 
and  all  the  little  girls,  and  all  the  street  urchins 
who  come  to  buy  milk  —  very  much  obliged  to 
you,  monsieur.  A  house  by  that  means  would 
become  a  place  of  public  resort.  There  would  be 


238     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

no  safety,  no  propriety.  No,  really,  I  could  not 
allow  a  milkwoman  to  come  under  my  gateway." 

"  Where  the  devil  do  you  want  they  should  go, 
then?" 

"  Gentlemen,  gentlemen,  I  forbid  you  to  talk 
politics,"  shouted  the  master  of  the  house,  darting 
between  the  marquis  and  the  chevalier.  "  Dance 
with  the  ladies !  Get  the  ladies  to  dance,  why 
don't  you  ? " 

"  And  where  are  your  ladies  ?  " 

"  Here  they  are !  they  are  coming  in  crowds ! 
We  are  going  to  be  as  gay  as  possible ! " 

And  the  fat  Turk  laughed  and  slapped  his  ro- 
tund vest  and  ran  from  this  one  to  that,  doing  his 
best  to  enliven  those  of  the  company  who  were  not 
amusing  themselves. 

A  tall  gentleman  came  out  of  a  neighboring 
room  and  began  to  walk  about  the  ballroom.  He 
was  dressed  in  ordinary  clothes,  but  he  had  on  a 
false  nose  with  heavy  mustaches.  He  looked  at 
everybody,  and  often  looked  at  himself  in  the  mir- 
rors ;  he  seemed  to  be  persuaded  that  people  must 
admire  him.  As  for  me  I  could  not  understand 
how  at  a  society  ball  any  one  could  disguise  him- 
self only  with  a  false  nose.  This  gentleman  had 
perhaps  intentions  of  a  comical  nature  which  would 
show  later  on.  We  would  await  the  event. 

The  company  soon  came.  Here  were  some 
pretty  women,  some  Camargoes,  some  peasants, 
some  vivandieres ;  all  these  costumes  were  very 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      239 

fresh,  they  were  dainty,  some  of  them  were  even 
distinguished,  but  I  did  not  see  one  that  was  exact. 
Peasants  do  not  get  themselves  up  so  daintily,  and 
vivandieres  do  not  put  such  material  as  that  into 
their  petticoats.  This  person  whom  I  see  in  a 
corner  of  the  ballroom  and  who  is  loaded  with 
a  profusion  of  flowers,  ribbons,  laces,  is  no  more  an 
Italian  villager  than  a  bourgeoise  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  They  sum  up  all  disguises  now  under 
one  head,  "fancy  dress."  Fancy  is  all  very  well; 
but  it  is  vexatious  that  these  ladies  have  not  the 
fancy  to  wear  a  costume  that  is  exact  and  correct; 
ball  costumes  would  gain  thereby,  and  one  would 
at  least  know  whom  each  person  intended  to  rep- 
resent. And  I  regretted  also  that  I  did  not  see 
any  disguises  which  would  have  given  one  a  comi- 
cal idea  and  enlivened  the  company;  but  it  is  far 
easier  to  disguise  one's  self  in  a  fine  costume  and 
say,  "  Admire  me,"  than  to  have  a  comical  idea. 
There  are,  therefore,  many  people  who  confine 
themselves  to  putting  on  a  handsome  dress. 

Up  to  [the  present  the  most  jocular  person  at 
the  ball  was  the  man  with  the  false  nose.  He 
walked  gravely  about  the  rooms  and  stopped  in 
front  of  the  ladies  and  seemed  to  expect  that  they 
would  intrigue  with  him;  but  nobody  spoke  to 
him.  It  must  have  disappointed  him  greatly.  I 
had  an  idea  that  his  nose  prevented  him  from  see- 
ing clearly,  for  I  noticed  several  times  that  he 
bumped  against  doors  and  stumbled  against  chairs. 


24o     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

I  was  desirous  of  knowing,  also,  how  he  managed 
to  keep  his  nose  on  without  the  help  of  a  hat. 
Ah !  a  lady  who  is  not  disguised  approaches  him 
—  she  is  speaking  to  him.  I  approach  also  and 
I  listen ;  it  is  allowable  in  a  masked  ball. 

"  My  dear,  are  you  going  to  keep  your  nose  on 
all  the  evening  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  I  see  none  of  your  acquain- 
tances here,  whom,  then,  do  you  wish  to  puzzle  ?  " 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  everybody 
looks  at  me,  then  they  whisper.  Didn't  you  notice 
that?  Why,  it  produces  an  astonishing  effect." 

"  It  must  bother  you  to  have  that  on  your  face." 

"  No ;  it  makes  me  squint  a  little ;  but  that's 
all  the  better." 

"  But  as  there's  no  one  here  who  knows  you 
except  M ." 

"  Let  me  alone ;  they'll  begin  to  intrigue  with 
me  later  on,  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  At  least,  my  dear,  you  will  take  off  your  nose 
for  supper." 

"  No,  I  shall  not  take  it  off.  Besides,  I've 
glued  the  mustache  and  the  bridge  of  the  nose 
with  varnish.  It  draws  the  skin  a  little,  but  it  holds 
perfectly." 

"  Shall  I  dance  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  certainly  not !  Dance  with  my  wife,  you 
little  mischief!  Everybody  here  would  recognize 
me." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      241 

"  But  as  no  one  here  —  ' 

"  Let  me  alone,  I  beg  of  you  !  " 

The  gentleman  of  the  nose  went  ill-temperedly 
off  from  his  wife  and  sauntered  about,  treading  on 
everybody's  toes.  The  master  of  the  house  was 
delighted ;  it  was  getting  so  crowded  that  no  one 
could  move  in  the  ballroom  ;  however,  they  wanted 
to  dance.  The  fat  Turk  came  and  went,  ran  and 
shouted, — 

"  I'm  stifling  in  this  dress  !  we  must  amuse  our- 
selves. We  must  make  merry  !  " 

The  music  was  heard.  The  dancers  took  their 
places  as  best  they  could ;  they  wanted  to  begin 
and  tried  to  execute  some  figures ;  but  their  feet 
were  glued  to  the  floor,  they  could  not  detach  their 
shoes.  They  looked  at  each  other  and  asked  how 
it  came  about  that  they  had  so  much  difficulty  in 
moving  their  feet.  The  Turk  laughed  till  he 
cried,  he  was  convulsed,  he  rolled  on  to  a  bench ; 
it  was  a  joke  after  his  own  heart.  He  had  distrib- 
uted powdered  tar  with  a  lavish  hand  all  over  the 
ballroom  so  that  the  dancers  could  not  glide  their 
feet. 

The  ladies  were  inclined  to  be  angry ;  and,  in 
fact,  it  was  singular  enough  to  invite  people  to  a 
ball  and  then  to  find  a  means  of  preventing  them 

from  dancing,  Finally,  M begged  for  pardon, 

and  while  they  were  dancing  in  the  first  drawing- 
room  he  promised  to  have  the  floor  made  practic- 
able for  dancing. 

Vol.  XIX 


242     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

I  went  into  a  room  where  they  were  playing 
bouillotte ;  the  stakes  were  very  moderate,  it  was 
almost  a  family  game.  However,  one  of  the  play- 
ers seemed  to  be  greatly  interested  in  it,  after  each 
hand  he  never  failed  to  utter  one  of  the  following 
phrases, — 

"  I  have  lost !  no,  I  haven't  lost.  I  am  within 
my  money.  Ah,  I  am  not  within  my  money.  I 
have  not  won.  Oh,  I've  got  back  my  money 
again." 

Ices  were  handed  round  ;  the  gentleman  with 
the  false  nose  took  one,  but,  thanks  to  his  false 
mustache,  could  not  get  a  bit  of  it  into  his  mouth. 
After  long  and  unfruitful  essays  to  swallow  a  little 
vanilla  without  hair,  he  concluded  to  leave  his  ice 
on  a  corner  of  the  mantelpiece. 

A  family  in  costume  arrived ;  the  husband  was 
a  Scotchman ;  and  all  the  ladies  at  the  ball  made 
a  frightened  movement,  but  the  Scotchman's  wife, 
who  was  dressed  as  a  savage,  hastily  reassured 
them.  As  to  the  lady,  she  had  donned  a  kind  of 
fur  petticoat.  I  heard  some  people  who  were  be- 
hind me  say  that  it  was  made  of  a  ripped  muff. 

Their  two  children,  aged  twelve  and  nine,  came 
attired  as  old  peasants  and  looked  as  if  they  wanted 
to  cry  because  the  curls  of  their  wigs  were  continu- 
ally falling  about  their  eyes. 

The  marquis  and  the  chevalier  were  still  hold- 
ing an  animated  conversation  in  an  embrasure  of 
the  window.  I  thought  they  were  talking  about 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      243 

what  was  taking  place  at  the  ball,  but  in  passing 
near  them  I  caught  these  words, — 

"  They  must,  however,  bring  my  milk  every 
morning.  This  has  been  my  breakfast  for  forty 
years  —  cafe-au-lait.  I  positively  must  have  my 
coffee." 

"  You  could  have  it  made  with  water." 

"  Much  obliged !  I  should  not  sleep  again  for 
a  year." 

These  gentlemen  were  still  discussing  perfidious 
milkwomen. 

But  the  master  of  the  house  was  now  bringing 
everybody  into  his  drawing-room,  declaring  as  he 
did  so  that  the  ladies'  tiny  feet  should  not  again  be 
stuck  to  the  floor.  I  saw  our  stout  Turk  laugh  as 
he  said  this  and  I  suspected  some  more  mischief 
on  his  part ;  and  all  the  more  so  because  he  had 
been  careful  to  walk  over  every  part  of  the  draw- 
ing-room before  giving  his  orders  to  the  orchestra. 

But  the  music  was  heard  again,  the  flageolet,  the 
cornet  called  everybody  to  the  dancing.  The  gen- 
tleman with  the  false  nose,  who  obstinately  walked 
about  among  the  crowd  where  nobody  spoke  to 
him,  was  jostled  and  pushed  by  the  dancers.  Lit- 
tle it  mattered  for  him  that  he  was  squeezed  and 
elbowed  by  everybody  ;  he  was  sure  that  his  nose 
set  everybody  else's  at  defiance,  and  this  convic- 
tion was  sufficient  for  him. 

The  signal  was  given,  the  dancers  started  ofF — 
but  another  event  signalled  this  contra-dance.  The 


244     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

parquet  was  now  so  slippery  that  it  was  difficult 
to  keep  one's  footing  on  it ;  it  seemed  as  though 
one  were  dancing  on  a  coating  of  very  slippery  ice. 
At  the  eighth  bar  three  dancers  measured  their 
length  on  the  floor  ;  the  father  of  a  family  who 
was  disguised  as  a  Scotchman  was  among  the  num- 
ber. The  Turk  laughed  more  than  before,  but 
this  time  the  dancers  surrounded  him,  the  ladies 
were  very  angry  —  they  told  him  they  could  not 

see  any  joke  in  it.  M had  some  trouble  in 

calming  his  company  and  in  getting  them  to  for- 
give him  for  this  new  trick.  Finally,  every  one 
became  calm.  The  stout  Turk  had  the  soap  pow- 
der with  which  the  floor  was  besprinkled  swept  up 
and  the  dancing  began  again.  But  I  heard  a  great 
lady  disguised  as  a  troubadour  complaining  bitterly 
at  what  had  happened. 

"  It  is  very  disagreeable  !  "  said  this  lady  to  one 
of  her  neighbors ;  "  my  little  boy  who  is  a  page 
was  dancing  just  now,  he  fell  down,  as  did  several 
other  persons,  and  he  has  torn  his  trousers.  And 
here  he  is  obliged  to  remain  seated  up  to  the  close 
of  the  ball.  It  is  very  vexatious.  I'm  going  to 
stuff  him  with  cakes  and  ices  to  console  him." 

The  two  Chinese  had  not  fallen,  for  they  had 
not  budged  from  their  places,  and  they  constantly 
held  their  fingers  in  the  air.  I  admired  the  pa- 
tience of  these  gentlemen  and  tried  to  imagine  the 
pleasure  they  could  find  at  this  ball.  At  this  mo- 
ment a  certain  rumor  was  heard  in  the  ballroom. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      245 

It  was  a  new  mask  who  had  arrived.  This  was 
a  young  man  dressed  like  a  Spaniard,  or  rather  a 
ridiculous  travesty  of  one ;  his  coat  tattered  and 
spangled,  a  fair  wig  which  was  much  too  short,  a 
little  turban  and  feather,  and  false  calves  in  which 
he  had  stuck  some  artificial  butterflies.  I  recog- 
nized a  very  witty  young  actress,  one  who  thought, 
like  myself,  that  at  an  affair  of  this  kind  those  who 
made  the  most  fun  showed  the  best  taste ;  but  the 
Spaniard  had  not  much  success  in  the  midst  of  all 
these  people,  who  had  no  other  thought  in  disguis- 
ing themselves  than  to  be  admired.  I  even  heard 
some  ladies  criticise  the  Spaniard's  costume  very 
loudly,  exclaiming, — 

"  Good  heavens !  where  did  the  man  get  such  a 
costume  as  that?"  But  on  the  other  hand  they 
very  greatly  admired  the  two  Chinese,  who  looked 
during  the  whole  evening  as  though  they  had  been 
pasted  on  to  a  screen. 

A  loud  noise  was  suddenly  heard  in  a  part  of 
the  ballroom.  It  was  the  gentleman  with  the  false 
nose,  who  had  tried  to  drink  some  punch  and  was 
almost  strangled  by  his  mustache.  He  grew  pur- 
ple and  everybody  tried  to  help  him.  His  wife 
came  up  and  said, — 

"He  must  take  off  his  false  nose,  it  is  that  which 
has  made  him  swallow  the  wrong  way." 

Several  young  men  seized  the  gentleman's  nose. 
It  was  so  well  stuck  on  that  they  had  to  pull  it 
several  times  to  get  it  off.  They  managed  to  do  so, 


246     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

however.  The  pain  which  this  gentleman  experi- 
enced when  they  took  off  his  mustache  brought 
him  to  himself;  but  he  put  his  hand  up  to  his  face 
and,  furious  at  having  lost  his  nose,  he  rose,  pushed 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  and  left  the  ballroom 
followed  by  his  wife. 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  unmask,"  he  said  to  her, 
"everybody  has  recognized  me  now.  Let  us  get 
away  from  here!  It  was  very  nonsensical  to  take 
my  nose  off." 

But  the  night  was  advancing,  and  several  per- 
sons manifested  a  desire  to  see  the  two  pies  which 

were  to  end  the  fete.  M had  a  sideboard  set 

forth  in  the  dining-room,  where,  in  the  midst  of 
divers  sweetmeats,  they  had  placed  the  objects 
which  had  been  announced. 

"  How  original  this  gentleman  is,"  said  the 
ladies.  "  What  an  idea  to  offer  us  pie  at  a  ball. 
Why,  it  is  quite  out  of  place,  people  no  longer 
serve  such  things  on  these  occasions." 

"  By  Jove,"  said  the  men,  "  since  he  has  pro- 
vided nothing  else  for  us  to  eat,  we  must  needs  taste 
those.  They  must  at  least  be  pates  de  Chartres." 

M begged  two  gentlemen  of  the  company 

to  open  them.  I  drew  near  the  sideboard.  I  had 
an  idea  that  our  Turk  had  reserved  a  dish  for  us 
after  his  own  heart.  In  fact,  hardly  had  these  gen- 
tlemen lifted  the  covers  than  from  each  pie  issued 
a  bat  which  put  itself  in  motion.  The  ladies  uttered 
piercing  shrieks ;  they  ran,  they  pushed  into  all 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       247 

the  other  rooms,  the  greatest  disorder  reigned  in 
the  ballroom,  and  above  all  this  noise  one  could 
hear  the  host's  shouts  of  laughter,  for  he  saw  one 
of  the  bats  attach  itself  to  the  Scotchman's  wig. 

This  joke  of  course  closed  the  ball.  I  went  out 
at  the  same  time  as  the  bouillotte  player,  who  kept 
saying  all  the  way  downstairs, — 

"  I  only  have  my  own  money.  I  didn't  win 
anything,  I  made  nothing ;  I  simply  kept  my  own 
money." 

A  HOUSEKEEPER  READING  TO  HER 
MASTER 

MARGUERITE,  push  the  table  nearer, 
draw  up  my  armchair  and  put  some  wood 
on  the  fire ;  I  shall  not  go  out  this  evening,  the 
weather  is  too  bad  for  me  to  go  and  watch  them 
playing  pool  at  the  Cafe  Turc.  I  am  sure,  how- 
ever, they  will  need  me  to  criticise  the  strokes." 

"  Oh,  well,  monsieur,  then  they  won't  be  criti- 
cised, that's  all.  Do  they  suppose  you  are  going 
to  take  cold  just  to  please  other  people?  and  then 
you  are  so  vain,  you  won't  wear  a  black  silk  skull 
cap  under  your  hat." 

"  Why,  Marguerite,  it  makes  one  look  as  if  one 
were  ill  —  an  invalid ;  and  thank  heaven  my  feet 
are  still  all  right  and  my  eyes  are  good,  and  my 
chest — hum!  hum!  hum!  this  confounded  cough ! 
Give  me  a  little  jujube  paste !  " 


248     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  Shall  we  play  piquet  or  marriage,  monsieur?  " 
inquired  Marguerite,  when  she  had  handed  her 
master  a  little  box  of  pectoral  paste. 

"  No,  I  don't  feel  inclined  to  play ;  you  shall 
read  to  me,  Marguerite." 

"Willingly,  monsieur;  but  I  hope  you  won't  go 
to  sleep,  as  you  often  do  before  I  have  read  three 
pages." 

"  I  shan't  go  to  sleep ;  but  try  not  to  read  con- 
tinuously in  the  same  tone,  it  is  very  monotonous." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  monsieur,  by  reading  in 
a  tone,  I  always  read  on  the  table  because  it  is 
handier." 

"  I  mean  that  you  do  not  vary  the  inflections  of 
your  voice  sufficiently." 

"  The  influxions — what  does  that  mean  ?  Good 
gracious !  you  are  getting  hard  to  please,  you  didn't 
ask  all  that  of  me  fifteen  years  ago." 

"  Fifteen  years  ago  your  voice  was  very  much 
softer  than  it  is  now." 

"  That  is,  you  were  not  quite  so  hard  of  hear- 
ing, you  did  not  force  me  to  shout  then.  Besides, 
if  I  no  longer  suit  you,  monsieur,  you  have  only 
to  speak." 

"  Now  you  are  vexed  ;  one  can't  say  a  word  to 
you.  Calm  yourself,  put  on  your  glasses  and  read." 

Marguerite,  after  muttering  for  some  minutes, 
at  length  became  calmer,  and  having  put  on  her 
spectacles  placed  on  the  table  several  volumes  for 
which  she  had  been  to  look. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      249 

"Oh,  we  can  take  our  choice  to-day,  monsieur,  I 
went  and  got  a  lot  from  the  library ;  what  would 
you  like  me  to  read  ?  " 

"  Anything  you  like." 

"  <  Gil  Bias  de  Santillane  '  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  by  heart." 

"'The  History  of  France'?" 

"  That  is  too  dry  for  you." 

"  <  The  Royal  Cook  Book  '  ?  " 

"One  can't  read  that  when  one  has  just  left  the 
table." 

"  The  c  Savant  de  Societe,'  a  pretty  work  that 
teaches  parlor  games  and  sleight  of  hand  tricks  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  think  I  want  with  that  kind  of 
thing?  At  my  age  one  has  done  with  parlor 
games  and  cares  nothing  for  sleight  of  hand  tricks." 

"The  deuce,  master!  you  are  hard  to  suit;  but 
here  is  a  great  novel  in  —  in  —  oc  —  " 

"  In  octavo,  you  mean  to  say." 

"Yes,  monsieur,  and  this  ought  to  be  better 
than  the  others,  because  it  is  the  biggest,  the  cover 
is  prettily  ornamented,  and  it  has  a  fine  engraving." 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  that  is,  Marguerite ;  don't 
take  up  that  story,  you  wouldn't  understand  it, 
nor  I  either." 

"And  why  was  it  written,  monsieur?  why  should 
they  print  books  which  nobody  can  understand?" 

"  Because  it's  the  fashion,  and  there  are  people 
who  assert  that  genius  should  not  be  understood 
by  every  one." 


250     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  and  that  old  author  I  read 
to  you  so  often,  M.  Boileau,  who  calls  a  spade  a 
spade,  he  is  not  a  genius,  then,  I  suppose  ? " 

"On  the  contrary,  Marguerite,  he  was  a  great 
man." 

"And  that  other  who  is  so  jovial,  that  Moliere 
who  says,  c  I  will  beat  my  wife  if  it  pleases  me  to 
do  so,  and  not  beat  her  if  it  doesn't  please  me.' 
Good  heavens !  how  he  makes  me  laugh  with  his 
comedies.  He  also  calls  things  by  their  right 
names  ;  do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  wasn't  witty  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  was  a  great  genius,  an  inimitable  man ! " 

"  Well,  how  is  it  that  I  can  understand  all  those 
genuises  so  well,  and  I  get  all  mixed  up  with  the 
new  ones  ? " 

"  There  are  still  authors  who  write  so  as  to  be 
understood,  Marguerite,  and  the  latter  will  be  the 
longer  read." 

"In  that  case,  monsieur,  we  will  pass  to  some- 
thing else.  Ah,  here  is  the  (  Cavern  of  the  Dead,' 
that's  a  pretty  title,  it  turns  one  to  gooseflesh  only 
to  hear  the  name;  and  the  frontispiece!  oh,  mon- 
sieur, what  a  frontispiece.  Just  look  here,  a  skele- 
ton in  a  cavern  with  chains  on  his  feet,  on  a  rock, 
and  with  a  belt  of  spikes,  and  this  handsome 
knight  who  is  looking  at  him  with  a  torch  in  one 
hand  and  a  kind  of  sword  in  the  other ;  how  brave 
he  must  be  !  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  a  fossilized  man  he  has  just 
discovered  ? " 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      251 

"  Oh,  no,  there  is  nothing  of  the  fossil  about 
that.  Wait,  here  are  some  words  under  it :  *  I 
swear  that  I  shall  take  no  rest  until  my  vengeance 
shall  be  complete ! '  Good  God,  is  it  the  dead 
man  who  swears  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  can't  you  see  very  well  that  it  is 
the  knight  who  wishes  to  discover  the  authors  of 
the  crime." 

"  Oh,  is  it  the  knight?  Poor  young  man  !  he 
will  take  no  rest.  Then  he  won't  even  go  to  bed 
till  he  has  found  out  who  did  the  deed." 

"  That  is  a  manner  of  speaking." 

"  Monsieur,  I'll  read  you  the  (  Cavern  of  the 
Dead,' shall  I  not?" 

"I'm  not  over  fond  of  books  that  are  filled  with 
horrors,  they  are  too  gloomy." 

"  Pardon  me,  monsieur,  I  think  they  are  very 
amusing.  There  are  ghosts,  underground  cham- 
bers, poniards,  changelings,  lost  fathers,  brigands, 
magic,  virtuous  and  innocent  women  who  each 
have  five  or  six  lovers  who  kill  each  other  for  her 
sake ;  that  is  very  nice,  monsieur.  It  makes  you 
shiver  with  fear,  it  makes  you  cry;  no  one  knows 
why,  but  it  is  all  the  same ;  and  the  next  day  when 
I'm  plucking  a  partridge  I  always  have  that  poor 
heroine  before  my  eyes.  Oh,  monsieur,  books 
like  that  are  very  fine !  " 

"Well,  since  you  like  it  so  much,  let's  have  some 
of  the  <  Cavern  of  the  Dead.'  " 

"  Are  you  ready,  monsieur  ? " 


252     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"Yes,  I  am  listening." 

"Then  I'll  begin  :  '"How  impressive  is  the  ap- 
proach of  night  under  this  gloomy  foliage ! "  ex- 
claimed the  brave  Albert  as  he  was  passing 
through  —  '" 

"  Marguerite,  pass  me  my  snuffbox." 

"  Here  it  is,  monsieur.  c  The  brave  Albert  as 
he  was  passing  through  the  wildest  part  of  the 
Black  Forest.  The  sun  — '  " 

"  It  is  deuced  dry." 

«<  The  sun  — '" 

"  Marguerite,  have  you  any  snuffin  your  box?" 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Give  me  a  pinch." 

" '  The  sun  had  already  passed  over  half  his 
course  when  the  knight  had  entered  this  frightful 
solitude,  and  since  that  time  — ' ' 

"  Marguerite,  try  not  to  speak  so  much  through 
your  nose,  it  sounds  to  me  like  a  'cello." 

"  Something  else  now !  t  that  time  these  were 
the  first  words  he  had  uttered.  The  gloomy  silence 
of  the  sombre  retreat  had  only  been  broken — " 

"  Have  you  warmed  my  bed,  Marguerite  ? " 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  — '  been  broken  from  time  to 
time  by  the  hooting  of  an  owl  or  by  the  flapping 
of  its  wings,  a  lugubrious  and  sinister  sound  which 
seemed  to  add  to  the  horror  of  the  frightful  desert 
and  impress  the  mind  with  a  superstitious  terror. 
Suddenly  he  heard  —  suddenly  — ' ' 

"  Monsieur !  monsieur ! "  cried  Marguerite,  "  it 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      253 

seems  to  me  that  I  heard  somebody  walking  about 
the  kitchen;  did  you  hear  anything,  monsieur?" 

But  her  master  was  already  asleep.  She  went 
to  him,  shook  him  by  the  arm,  and  he  awoke,  ex- 
claiming,— 

"I  protest  that  the  ball  was  not  close  to  the 
cushion  —  " 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  cushions  for,  mon- 
sieur ;  why,  we  were  in  the  Black  Forest." 

"  Faith,  I  was  at  the  Cafe  Turc,  my  child  !  But 
your  cavern  has  made  me  sleepy,  I  must  go  to  bed 
and  you'll  read  it  to  me  some  other  time." 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  and  you'll  see  how  nice  it  it." 


PARIS  FROM  MY  WINDOW 

IN  the  first  place  I  must  inform  you  that  my 
window  looks  on  the  boulevard,  not  on  that  ele- 
gant boulevard  which  is  the  haunt  of  dandies  and 
all  the  fashionable  tribe,  where  is  held  every  day 
a  second  Bourse ;  or  where  they  decide  what  news 
shall  be  spread  the  next  day  in  order  to  cause  stocks 
to  rise  or  fall,  while  apparently  lost  in  admiration 
of  a  new  equipage  issuing  from  the  Rue  Lafitte. 

Do  not  suppose,  either,  that  I  am  relegated  to 
the  boulevards  of  the  Marais,  opposite  the  Rues 
de  la  Roquette  or  Saint-Sebastien,  having  in  per- 
spective nothing  but  old  trees — very  fine,  it  is  true, 


254     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

but  also  very  gloomy — and  crosswalks  often  de- 
serted but  in  which  appear  from  time  to  time  some 
of  the  respectable  inhabitants  of  the  "  Rue  du  Pas- 
du-la-Mule  "  or  of  the  "  Trois-Pistolets."  This 
neighborhood  will  probably  become  very  cheerful, 
very  lively,  when  the  new  Theatre  Saint-Antoine 
is  in  full  activity ;  but  up  to  the  present  you  would 
rather,  I  am  sure,  that  I  should  not  stay  there. 

Take  the  medium  between  these  two  positions, 
and  you  will  be  exactly  on  the  boulevard  Saint- 
Martin;  you  will  have  neither  the  dandyism  of  the 
Chaussee-d'Antin  nor  the  dulness  of  the  Marais ; 
but  you  will  see  a  little  of  everything ;  you  will 
have  a  small  Paris,  very  cheerful,  very  animated, 
very  varied,  rather  noisy  on  Sunday,  but  quite 
bearable  during  the  week.  A  kind  of  magic  lan- 
tern is  passing  before  my  eyes  and  I  am  going  to 
describe  a  few  of  the  slides  to  you,  suppressing 
entirely  those  of  "  monsieur  le  soleil "  and 
"  madame  la  lune,"  because  I  never  look  at  either 
one  or  the  other  for  fear  of  making  my  eyes  sore. 

Let  us  place  ourselves  in  front  of  the  lantern, 
or,  rather,  at  my  window,  at  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  This  is  the  first  picture. 

Then  the  boulevard  is  almost  quiet ;  the  shops 
are  not  yet  open,  for  what  kind  of  shops  are  usually 
on  a  boulevard  ?  Novelty  shops,  and  shops  where 
engravings,  books,  playthings,  and  bonbons  are 
sold ;  manufacturers  of  billiard  tables  and  other  ob- 
jects  which  people  rarely  go  to  buy  at  seven  o'clock 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      255 

in  the  morning;  that  is  why  all  these  merchants 
do  not  hurry  to  open  their  shops,  they  know  that 
the  persons  who  buy  from  them  do  not  get  about 
so  early. 

You  will  notice  that  grocers  and  wine  merchants 
are  very  rare  on  this  promenade;  the  corners  of 
streets  are  especially  affected  by  this  class  of  traders, 
which  is  very  fortunate  for  the  boulevards. 

On  the  other  hand  this  promenade  has  a  multi- 
plicity of  cafes.  For  my  part  I  have  one  under 
me,  one  opposite  me,  one  at  my  right,  two  at  my 
left ;  and  I  can  see  two  more  a  little  farther  down. 

Without  leaving  my  boulevard  I  can  go  into 
ten  cafes.  One  may  judge  from  that  of  the  great 
number  of  these  establishments  in  Paris.  This  is 
what  falsifies  still  further  the  prophecy  of  Madame 
de  Sevigne,  who  said  that  the  cafe  would  pass  away 
like  Racine ;  or  that  Racine  would  pass  away  like 
the  cafe. 

And  yet  these  places  are  daily  becoming  more 
brilliant,  more  elegant  and  richer  than  of  yore  (to 
the  sight  at  least) ;  as  the  eyes  grow  tired  of  the 
dazzle  of  the  mirrors,  the  gilding  and  the  gas,  you 
will  understand  why  the  proprietors  of  the  sumpt- 
uous caravanseries  do  not,  like  the  wine  merchant 
and  the  grocer,  who  sells  a  little  glass  to  the  mes- 
senger, get  up  very  early.  The  waiters,  tired  by 
their  labors  late  into  the  night,  follow  their  master's 
example,  and  that  is  why  the  cafes  are  not  open  at 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 


SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

Cabs  and  cabriolets  are  still  rare ;  which  lends 
at  this  moment  a  quietude  which  astonishes  even 
the  passers-by.  Already  the  early  workman  runs 
to  his  work  holding  under  his  arm  the  third  of  a 
four-pound  loaf  which  he  will  eat  for  his  breakfast, 
and  which  would  serve  a  man  of  fashion  for  six 
meals.  But  people  who  get  up  early  usually  have 
good  appetites. 

Here  are  some  tardy  workers ;  those  who  are 
out  of  work  or  who  work  by  the  piece ;  and  then 
those  who  idle  instead  of  working. 

Two  men  accost  each  other.  It  is  easy  to  see 
that  these  are  workmen.  One  of  them  is  respecta- 
ble, has  buttons  on  his  jacket,  and  his  cap  placed 
so  as  to  cover  his  head ;  finally,  he  has  stockings 
in  his  shoes  and  his  bread  under  his  arm ;  the  other 
has  an  old  red  cap  slouched  over  one  ear  like  a 
roisterer ;  he  is  untidy,  his  jacket  and  shirt  are  un- 
buttoned, his  trousers  look  as  though  they  were 
dropping  off  him,  and  to  cap  it  all  he  has  a  pipe 
in  his  mouth.  Let  us  listen  to  their  conversation, — 

"  Why,  where  are  you  going  in  such  a  hurry 
as  that,  Poularde  ?  Wait  a  minute,  you  shouldn't 
pass  your  friends  without  stopping." 

"  Why,  is  that  you,  Balochet  ?  walking  about 
with  your  hands  in  your  pockets ;  are  you  keeping 
holiday  too  ? " 

"Why,  my  faith  it's  too  late  in  the  week,  it's 
not  worth  while  to  begin.  Come  and  have  some- 
thing to  wet  your  whistle." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      257 

"  I  can't.  I'm  already  a  little  late  and  the  work 
is  in  a  hurry." 

"  Come  along,  I  say,  are  you  afraid  of  being 
scolded,  slowcoach  ? " 

"  I  must  work;  I  have  four  children  to  feed." 

"  Well,  where  is  your  wife  ?  why  doesn't  she 
look  out  for  that  ?  It's  beneath  the  dignity  of  a 
man  to  bother  himself  about  brats.  Look  you, 
Poularde,  a  man  ought  always  to  preserve  his  own 
dignity.  I'm  an  advanced  thinker,  I  am." 

"  And  I  think  of  feeding  my  children,  seeing 
that  my  wife  has  quite  enough  to  do  to  wash  their 
faces  and  look  after  them  and  cook  the  victuals 
for  us  all." 

"  Isn't  it  a  woman's  work  to  sweep  the  rooms 
and  feed  the  brats  ?  Jingo,  Poularde,  you  are 
behind  the  times.  Come  into  the  wine  merchant's 
—  I'll  pay  for  it." 

"Thank  you,  I  can't." 

"  You  are  still  a  famous  skulker.  You  want  to 
see  things  by  our  light,  Poularde ;  look  you,  it's 
necessary  to  know  one's  rights  and  dignities  —  a 
man  should  command  and  walk  about,  and  occupy 
himself  with  politics  whenever  he  wishes." 

"And  the  children  will  die  of  hunger  mean- 
while." 

"  Are  not  the  women  responsible  for  them  ? 
You  don't  understand  anything  about  it.  As  for 
me,  I  must  have  my  authority  respected,  and  I  am 
capable  of  going  very  far." 

Vol.  XIX 


258     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

"  You  shall  tell  me  the  rest  another  day.  Good- 
by,  Balochet!" 

"  Listen  now,  Poularde." 

The  man  who  worked  was  already  far  on  his 
way  ;  the  idler  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  went 
towards  a  wine  shop,  muttering, — 

"  There's  no  way  of  making  that  fellow  hear 
reason.  One  can  never  get  anything  out  of  him." 

These  two  men  are  replaced  by  two  young  girls 
who  before  going  to  work  come  to  get  their  meas- 
ure of  milk  for  their  daily  breakfast. 

See  this  fat  peasant  lass  with  her  full-blown  face 
and  great  rosy  cheeks,  she  comes  every  morning 
from  Noisy-le-Sec,  with  her  donkey  loaded  with 
tin  cans  full  of  milk  and  her  little  jars  which  she 
tries  to  persuade  us  contain  cream.  The  donkey 
is  placed  in  charge  of  some  one,  for  donkeys  are 
not  allowed  to  stand  on  the  corners  of  the  streets 
or  boulevards,  for  fear  there  should  be  too  many. 

The  milkwoman  is  established  against  a  neigh- 
boring house  ;  she  is  surrounded  by  her  jars  and 
cans.  There  is  a  time  when  she  is  so  hurried  that 
she  doesn't  know  whom  to  answer  first ;  all  the 
little  girls,  all  the  maids  want  to  be  served  at  the 
same  time. 

"  My  milk,  Therese,  I'm  in  a  hurry  !  " 

"  My  milk,  Therese,  I  worked  late  last  night 
and  I  need  my  coffee." 

"  Milkwoman,  you  haven't  given  me  the  right 
measure." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      259 

"  And  me,  too,  I  have  not  had  my  little  drop." 

"  My  milk  turned  sour  yesterday,  I  am  sorry 
to  say." 

The  milkwoman,  always  calm  in  the  midst  of  this 
deluge  of  words,  serves  each  one  of  her  customers, 
assuring  them  that  her  milk  is  always  excellent 
(when  it  turns  it  is  the  fault  of  the  cows),  and  after 
she  has  got  rid  of  the  crowd  which  had  besieged 
her  she  smiles  at  a  good-looking  young  fellow  in 
a  very  light  costume  who  has  stopped  before  her. 

This  is  a  baker's  boy  who  has  been  carrying 
bread  to  his  master's  customers.  You  must  know 
that  bakers'  boys  are  fond  of  laughing,  and  that 
they  invariably  have  a  weakness  for  milkwomen, 
that  they  think  themselves  very  fetching,  and  that 
they  make  puns. 

Milkwomen  do  not  understand  puns ;  but  they 
laugh  as  though  they  did,  and  the  baker's  boy 
always  has  his  special  small  jar  when  he  wants  to 
take  coffee. 

But  the  picture  becomes  more  animated,  Paris 
is  awakening  ;  the  shops  are  opening.  The  young 
shopwomen  are  showing  themselves  at  their  doors 
still  in  curl-papers  and  morning  shawls,  and  already 
curious  to  see  if  their  neighbors  have  spread  out 
any  new  wares. 

The  porters  and  portresses  mark  the  distance 
like  street  lamps.  Leaning  on  their  brooms,  they 
listen  to  the  maids  and  distribute  to  them  all  the 
new  scandals  they  have  been  able  to  pick  up.  The 


a6o     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

Parisian  porter  is  a  notorious  scandalmonger  and 
has  a  vile  tongue.  I  know  of  one  of  them  who 
amused  himself  by  writing  anonymous  letters  to 
the  tenants  in  his  house ;  and,  as  he  saw  a  good 
many  things,  he  put  discord  into  the  households 
instead  of  sweeping  in  front  of  his  door. 

But  it  is  getting  late  ;  the  baker's  boy  picks  up 
his  basket  of  bread  which  he  had  deposited  near 
the  milkwoman's  jars.  He  gives  that  fat  trades- 
woman one  of  his  most  seductive  smiles,  she  an- 
swers him  cheerfully,  and  then  they  separate  ;  he  to 
carry  his  bread,  she  to  gather  up  her  empty  bottles. 

The  milkwoman  is  gone;  she  has  taken  her  don- 
key and  gone  back  to  Noisy-le-Sec ;  the  milk- 
woman  knows  nothing  of  Paris  but  the  way  which 
leads  to  the  place  where  she  sells  her  milk. 

Now  there  are  no  more  workmen,  it  is  clerks 
whom  we  see  passing.  One  walks  briskly,  his  lit- 
tle roll  in  his  pocket,  his  coat  buttoned  up  to  the 
chin,  and  talking  to  himself  like  a  man  who  writes 
vaudevilles. 

The  other  swings  himself,  loiters,  looks  in  each 
shop  window,  stops  when  two  dogs  are  fighting 
and  in  front  of  a  house  they  are  building  and  at 
the  notices  on  all  the  lamp  posts. 

Some  of  them  thread  their  way  like  a  sky-rocket, 
looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  with  a  very 
business-like  air,  some  rolls  of  paper  under  the  arm, 
always  well-brushed  and  with  well-blacked  boots. 
Generally  the  clerk  is  well-groomed. 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      261 

But  the  time  for  employes  passes  very  quickly. 
Here  are  the  persons  who  go  out  on  their  own 
business.  Neglected  dress  and  muddy  boots,  that 
is  recognized  at  once.  If  it  is  bad  weather  these 
people  have  no  umbrella,  while  the  office  clerk 
never  walks  without  one  if  the  sky  shows  the  slight- 
est tendency  for  rain. 

The  smaller  shopkeepers  have  spread  out  their 
goods  on  the  sidewalk. 

Here  is  a  shop  where  they  sell  china,  cups,  tea- 
cups, plates,  everything  seems  cheap;  but  you 
don't  notice  that  these  pieces  are  imperfect,  that 
they  all  have  some  defect. 

Who  are  these  gentlemen  in  top  coats  buttoned 
up  to  the  neck,  and  with  caps  with  vizors  which 
come  almost  down  to  their  noses.  By  their  accent, 
by  the  national  mark  imprinted  on  their  physi- 
ognomies, you  must  immediately  recognize  the 
descendants  of  the  great  Abraham,  the  children  of 
Israel,  of  that  long-persecuted  nation  which  has 
nevertheless  made  its  way  in  the  world.  Gener- 
ally speaking,  persecuted  people  acquire  either  for- 
tune or  glory.  The  Jews  are  born  buyers  and 
sellers,  and  this  is  no  reproach  that  I  bring  against 
them,  quite  the  contrary,  it  is  a  eulogy  to  their 
cleverness ;  for  commerce  is  the  only  true  riches 
in  the  world.  All  other  kinds  are  conventional. 
Gold,  silver  and  banknotes  have  a  purely  conven- 
tional value  which  we  put  upon  them.  But  com- 
merce it  is  which  causes  them  to  circulate,  which 


262     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

affords  employment  to  so  many  million  men,  and 
carries  from  one  pole  to  the  other  our  manufac- 
tures and  the  products  of  our  climate.  These  are 
unconventional  riches  and  give  life  to  the  others. 

We  say  that  the  descendants  of  Israel  are  born 
with  commercial  instincts;  as  the  Italians  are  born 
musicians ;  the  English,  thinkers ;  the  Germans, 
smokers ;  and  the  French,  mockers.  At  the  age 
of  eight  or  nine  you  will  see  little  Jew  boys  walk- 
ing along  with  a  flat  basket  between  them ;  they 
began  by  rinding  a  pin,  then  they  looked  for  others. 
When  they  had  amassed  a  hundred  they  began  to 
establish  themselves  in  business,  that  is  they  set 
up  as  pin  merchants,  and  in  a  few  years  the  little 
pedlars  will  have  a  booth  and  later  on  a  shop,  then 
clerks,  and  who  knows  where  it  will  stop.  But  let 
us  return  to  these  men  who  have  stationed  them- 
selves in  the  boulevard. 

One  of  the  two  brings  out  from  under  his  frock 
coat  a  kind  of  folding  stand  of  wood,  on  which  he 
places  a  flat  square  box,  of  which  the  cover  is  raised 
and  shows  a  heap  of  rings  and  pins  with  stones  of 
all  colors ;  you  see  that  immediately  makes  a  stall. 
This  man  begins  to  shout, — 

"  See,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  choice  you  can 
have  here.  All  fine  jewels  and  fine  stones  set  in 
gold.  It's  all  stamped,  gentlemen,  all  stamped; 
you  may  look  for  yourselves,  I  would  not  deceive 
you.  Thirty  sous  for  gold  rings.  Selling  out  for 
nothing  because  of  a  failure,  now's  your  time." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      263 

While  this  gentleman  is  thus  praising  his  wares, 
two  of  his  comrades,  acting  the  part  of  confeder- 
ates, stop  before  his  little  stall  which  he  has  placed 
exactly  in  the  middle  of  the  boulevard ;  they  ap- 
pear to  be  busied  in  choosing  rings  and  pins. 
Then  they  fumble  in  their  pockets  and  drawing  out 
a  five-franc  piece  pay  him  for  them,  all  of  which 
goes  on  for  a  long  time,  because  they  hope  it  will 
attract  some  loiterers  or  better  still  some  silly  gud- 
geon, who  will  be  led  by  their  example  to  purchase 
a  ring  which  he  wants  to  give  to  his  wife  or  his 
daughter.  In  fact,  the  loiterers  stop,  look,  listen, 
but  very  few  of  them  buy.  The  Parisian  is  be- 
coming difficult  to  trap. 

But  besides  the  confederates  who  surround  the 
stall  and  pretend  to  buy,  there  are  others  stationed 
here  and  there  on  the  boulevard ;  they  are  pickets, 
charged  with  the  duty  of  giving  an  alarm  as  soon 
as  a  policeman  or  detective  shows  above  the  hori- 
zon. It  seems  that  these  well-stamped  jewels  will 
hardly  stand  the  scrutinizing  eye  of  authority  ;  for 
directly  a  picket  gives  the  alarm,  see  with  what 
dexterous  celerity  the  jewel  merchant  closes  his 
box,  picks  up  his  stand,  and  escapes  through  the 
passers-by.  I  have  seen  them,  in  their  haste,  let  a 
part  of  their  merchandise  fall  and  not  even  stop  to 
pick  it  up. 

This  will  prove  to  you  that  very  singular  indus- 
tries exist  in  Paris  and  that  "all  that  glitters  is  not 
gold." 


a64     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

The  carnages  and  cabriolets  pass  and  repass; 
omnibuses,  and  other  vehicles  go  by  almost  every 
instant.  It  is  becoming  so  easy  and  costs  so  little 
to  go  about  in  cabs  now,  that  I  am  surprised  to 
see  so  many  foot-passengers  in  Paris. 

It  is  two  o'clock,  the  busy  scene  is  at  its  height. 
What  a  bustle  and  hurry,  what  a  variety  of  people, 
what  contrasts  one  sees  in  the  faces  and  figures  of 
all  these  personages.  There,  young  and  pretty 
women,  elegant,  graceful,  out  walking  that  they 
may  win  admiration  for  their  faces  and  figures, 
here  some  poor  pensioner  trying  to  wrap  herself  in 
an  old  worn-out  shawl. 

Then  a  young  man  of  middle  age,  having  a  fine 
mustache  which  mingles  with  his  immense  whisk- 
ers, with  a  goatee  on  his  chin,  in  a  hat  rather 
pointed  in  the  crown,  from  beneath  which  his  hair 
floats  in  carefully  frizzled  curls.  And  over  there 
an  individual  in  a  velvet  jacket  and  trousers  of  the 
same,  no  waistcoat  and  very  few  buttons  on  his 
trousers  and  jacket ;  his  shirt  open  in  front,  which 
allows  this  gentleman's  chest  to  be  seen,  and  in- 
forms us  that  he  has  a  great  resemblance  to  a  bear, 
a  knowledge  with  which  we  could  very  well  dis- 
pense. 

And  this  untidy  person  with  his  clothing  unbut- 
toned, whose  face  is  vinous  and  his  walk  tottering, 
talks  aloud,  often,  even,  he  sings  as  he  walks  along 
and  affects  the  use  of  the  freest  discourse  and  the 
most  indecent  words  whenever  he  passes  a  virtu- 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      265 

ous-looking  woman  or  a  young  girl  of  modest 
appearance ;  and  there  is  no  one  to  arrest  such  a 
wretch.  Are  not  these  men  who  wish  to  thrust 
into  our  faces  their  vices,  their  infamy,  their  in- 
fected breath,  as  deserving  of  punishment  as  those 
street  hawkers  who  have  no  licenses?  In  France 
they  are  not  severe  enough  with  this  kind  of  offence, 
which  is  becoming  extremely  common  since  we  are 
fortunate  enough  to  possess  the  liberty  which  so 
many  men  translate  into  license. 

But  whom  are  this  old  couple  who  come  round 
the  corner  of  the  boulevard  and  who  seem  to  want 
to  upset  everybody  in  their  way. 

The  woman  is  very  ugly ;  and  she  is  also  very 
disagreeable-looking.  She  is  tall,  thin,  narrow,  dry 
and  yellow ;  she  has  an  immense  bonnet  on  which 
there  are  massed  flowers,  ostrich  tips,  marabouts, 
tulle  and  great  bows  of  ribbon.  This  bonnet  must 
be  fatiguing  for  anyone  to  carry,  and  when  the  wind 
gets  under  it  the  lady  must  necessarily  have  some 
one  to  hold  her  down  to  earth,  or  else  her  bonnet 
would  cause  her  ascension. 

But  we  have  not  yet  seen  all.  Under  the  bon- 
net is  a  cap  and  the  cap  is  adorned  with  artificial 
fruits.  You  know  for  some  time  past  fashion  has 
substituted  fruits  for  flowers  ;  this  lady  has  doubt- 
less thought  that  they  match  her  face  well,  for  she 
has  on  each  of  her  cheeks  a  bunch  of  grapes,  and 
another  of  red  currants  on  her  forehead.  Imagine 
now  this  old  yellow  face  surrounded  with  grapes 


266     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

and  currants  and  overshadowed  by  feathers  and 
flowers  and  you  will  not  be  astonished  that  every 
one  turns  round  as  they  pass  by  this  lady  and  that 
some  of  them  exclaim, — 

"  What  is  it  ?  have  you  seen  this  big  corpse 
which  is  going  by  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  frightened  me  !  It  looks  like  a  mummy 
walking  along." 

"  Well,  to  me  it  looked  like  a  monkey  disguised 
as  a  woman." 

"  It  is  some  foreign  lady  who  is  taking  the  air 
for  her  health." 

"  Good  heavens  !  she  looks  as  if  she  needed 
some  health." 

And  the  tall  dame,  who  sometimes  hears  these 
remarks  that  are  made  about  her,  casts  furious 
glances  at  the  crowd  and  squeezes  her  husband's 
arm,  saying  to  him, — 

"  Do  walk  along,  M.  Mollet,  you  dawdle  among 
these  low  people  —  they  might  steal  the  shawl  off 
my  shoulders  and  you  certainly  would  not  run 
after  the  thief." 

M.  Mollet  is  a  short,  full-bodied,  red-faced, 
knock-kneed  man  who  constantly  wears  an  entire 
suit  of  flannel  and  above  that  two  shirts,  thin 
drawers,  thick  woollen  trousers,  two  waistcoats,  a 
coat,  a  frock  coat  and  an  overcoat.  You  can  under- 
stand that  this  enormous  mass  moves  only  with 
difficulty.  When  M.  Mollet  wants  to  get  his  hand- 
kerchief out  of  his  pocket,  he  begins  by  sighing, 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       267 

then  he  stops,  lets  go  of  his  wife's  arm,  gives  her 
his  cane  to  hold,  and  tries  to  make  use  of  his  hands ; 
but  he  is  never  quite  certain  in  which  of  his  pock- 
ets he  has  put  his  handkerchief,  and  the  examina- 
tion is  often  so  long  that  Madame  Mollet  ends  by 
lending  her  handkerchief  to  her  husband,  who  takes 
it  with  a  grateful  look  and  murmurs, — 

"  Thank  you,  dearest !  " 

M.  Mollet  resumes  his  cane  and  his  wife's  arm  ; 
and  the  old  couple  set  off  walking  again,  the  lady 
persuaded  that  everybody  should  make  a  guard  of 
honor  for  her  because  she  wears  a  real  India  cash- 
mere shawl ;  her  husband,  as  stupid  as  his  better 
half,  thinking  that  every  one  is  admiring  his  beau- 
tiful diamond  pin  and  his  handsome,  gold-knobbed 
walking-stick. 

I  have  no  need  to  tell  you  that  these  people  are 
neither  counts  nor  marquises.  True  nobility  may 
be  haughty,  proud,  vain,  but  it  is  never  ridiculous. 

Rochefocauld  said,  "  The  accent  of  the  country 
where  one  is  born  remains  in  the  mind  and  heart 
as  well  as  in  the  speech." 

As  for  me,  I  think  that  one  also  keeps  the  "  ac- 
cent" of  the  occupation  one  has  pursued;  it  remains 
in  the  manners  and  bearing  as  in  the  speech.  This 
lady  and  gentleman  were  formerly  bakers,  and  they 
have  retired  from  business  with  thirty-thousand- 
francs  income.  Certainly  people  may  be  very 
estimable  and  yet  sell  bread  rolls  ;  but  later  on  they 
should  not  give  themselves  impertinent  airs. 


268     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

Let  us  pass  the  old  couple.  Let  us  look  at  these 
children  with  their  nurse.  These  rosy,  fresh,  nice 
children  who  jump  and  skip  with  so  much  pleasure 
before  every  toy  stall.  The  little  boy  has  a  hoop 
and  he  wants  to  run  it  through  the  crowd  which 
often  bars  the  passage.  The  little  girl  has  a  ball 
which  she  throws  before  her  that  she  may  have  the 
pleasure  of  running  after  it.  But  she  is  only  three 
years  old  and  the  nurse  should  not  let  her  run  alone; 
unfortunately  for  the  child,  the  nurse  recognizes  a 
countrywoman  and  it  is  much  more  agreeable  to 
learn  the  news  of  her  neighborhood  than  to  run 
with  a  child  to  catch  a  ball.  Five  minutes  have 
not  elapsed  when  the  little  boy  is  upset  in  trying 
to  get  his  hoop  from  between  a  mason's  legs,  and 
the  little  girl  falls  on  her  nose  in  running  too  hard 
after  her  ball. 

The  passers-by  pick  up  the  children,  but  the 
nurse  does  not  even  hear  their  cries,  because  her 
countrywoman  is  telling  her  of  the  marriage  of  her 
brother  Jean- Louis  with  the  miller's  daughter ;  at 
length  some  one  calls  her  attention  to  the  two 
children  who  are  crying  and  ask  her  if  they  are  in 
her  charge ;  she  scolds  them  both  and  promises 
to  whip  them  if  they  tell  their  mamma  they  fell 
down ;  and  the  children,  with  swelling  hearts  and 
faces  smeared  with  dust,  promise  their  nurse  to  say 
nothing;  then  the  latter,  to  cure  the  bumps  on  their 
foreheads,  leads  them  towards  the  cocoa-seller,  say- 
ing to  them,  "  Now  I  am  going  to  treat  you." 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      269 

The  cocoa-seller  is  a  classical  being,  like  the 
pleasure  vender,  and  children  are  classical,  for  they 
always  love  pleasure  and  cocoa. 

There  is  not  a  good  popular  festival  or  free  spec- 
tacle, a  line  at  the  theatre,  a  review  on  the  Champs 
de  Mars,  a  fair  in  the  outskirts  of  Paris,  a  proces- 
sion on  the  boulevards  but  the  cocoa-seller  is  there. 
Look  at  his  silver-plated  fountain,  highly  polished 
and  shining,  adorned  with  flowers,  streamers  of 
ribbon,  and  with  tiny  bells ;  he  is  a  perambulating 
Samaritan. 

The  cocoa-seller  usually  has  a  nose  as  red  as  his 
apron  is  white,  which  would  lead  one  to  believe 
that  the  honest,  hard-working  man  does  not  slake 
his  thirst  with  his  own  merchandise  nor  eat  up  his 
stock-in-trade.  But  his  appearance  is  pleasing  and 
he  walks  sturdily  along  despite  the  fountain  which 
he  carries  on  his  shoulders ;  he  shouts  in  a  voice 
that's  rather  raspy  sometimes, — 

"  Who'll  drink?  Here's  your  fresh  cocoa, who'll 
drink  ? "  but  he  accompanies  this  cry  with  the  shak- 
ing of  his  bells  and  goblets  which  produces  a  sort 
of  Turkish  tintinnabulation  which  is  very  pleasant 
to  hear.  I  am  surprised  that  they  have  not,  as 
yet,  employed  the  cocoa-merchant  in  the  concerts- 
monstres. 

But  people  are  passing  steadily  along  and  we  are 
letting  some  very  original  characters  escape  us;  in 
the  first  place  this  little  humpbacked  gentleman 
who  swings  himself  as  he  walks  with  so  much 


270     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

pretension,  ogling  the  ladies  with  such  a  mischiev- 
ous expression  and  imagining  that  they  do  not  see 
the  deformity  in  his  figure  because  he  is  always 
dressed  in  the  latest  fashion. 

People  are  walking  faster,  it  is  dinner  time,  and 
this  rarely  fails  to  accelerate  their  movements. 
This  one  is  expected  by  his  wife,  who  will  scold 
him  if  he  comes  in  late.  The  other  is  going  to 
dine  in  town  and  must  first  go  home  to  change 
his  clothes. 

An  elegant  cabriolet  passes  rapidly  along  the 
causeway,  driven  by  a  dandy;  look  out !  he  won't 
shout  "Take  care,"  he'll  run  over  you  if  you  don't 
get  out  of  the  way  in  time.  Make  way  for  him 
then,  poor  foot-passengers;  don't  you  see  that  this 
gentleman  is  the  promoter  of  a  company  who,  in- 
stead of  paying  his  shareholders,  prefers  to  dazzle 
them  ? 

One  moment ;  here  is  a  little,  short,  fat,  thick- 
set woman,  who  wants  to  take  an  omnibus.  The 
conductor  does  not  see  her,  the  little  woman  is  very 
unfortunate,  she  cannot  shout  because  she  has  got 
a  cold ;  she  cannot  run  because  she  carries  a  bas- 
ket and  a  cardboard  box  ;  she  places  herself  in  the 
middle  of  the  street  and  plays  the  most  expressive 
pantomime,  until  she  hears  coarse  voices  shouting 
in  her  ears, — 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,  there  !" 

The  warning  is  uttered  by  some  men  who  are 
moving  furniture,  the  poor  dame  is  obliged  to  leave 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK      271 

the  causeway  and  wait  till  it  shall  please  Providence 
to  send  another  omnibus — which  Providence  does 
every  five  minutes. 

But  where  are  this  joyful  couple  going  ?  Their 
faces  are  bourgeoise,  their  manners  common ;  the 
woman  has  a  cap,  the  man  has  earrings  in  his  ears  ; 
they  push  aside  all  who  stand  in  their  way ;  they 
would  upset  stalls,  booths,  merchants,  if  they  could, 
rather  than  fail  to  arrive  at  their  destination. 

They  are  small  shopkeepers  going  to  a  play,  to 
the  theatre  which  they  adore,  and  which  their 
means  do  not  allow  them  to  visit  more  than  four 
times  a  year.  So  they  don't  wish  to  miss  an  act, 
a  scene,  a  word.  They  have  chosen  the  theatre 
where  they  give  the  longest  plays.  At  the  "  Am- 
bigu  Comique  "  there  are  now  on  the  board  three 
complete  well-staged  melodramas.  Had  another 
theatre  offered  four  melodramas  they  would  have 
gone  there ;  but  as  up  to  the  present  no  one  has 
given  more  than  three,  our  young  people  are  going 
to  the  "  Ambigu." 

They  arrive  before  the  fireman,  before  the  muni- 
cipal guard ;  they  see  the  barriers  placed  for  the 
line ;  they  see  the  workpeople  go  in ;  they  are 
still  alone  before  the  office,  and  despite  that  they 
keep  saying,  "  If  we  only  have  places." 

We  must  not  laugh  at  these  people ;  the  play 
will  afford  them  a  pleasure  which  we  cannot  under- 
stand, and  which  we  shall  never  again  feel,  we 
who  are  disillusioned  as  to  the  scenery  and  we  who 


272     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

neglect  to  listen  three  parts  of  the  time  and  see  an 
actor  only  where  they  see  a  personage. 

But  night  is  falling ;  the  cafes  are  being  lit  up, 
and  shine  resplendent  with  gas ;  the  shops  are 
becoming  more  beautiful,  for  it  is  rarely  that  mer- 
chandise spread  out  does  not  gain  by  being  seen 
under  the  light.  This  is  the  real  time  for  walking; 
in  the  evening  no  one  goes  out  on  business,  but 
one  goes  out  for  pleasure. 

This  is  the  time  when  the  gallant  husband  takes 
his  wife  to  choose  a  floss  silk  shawl  which  he  wishes 
to  give  her ;  and  see  how  pleased  these  ladies  look 
who  are  leaning  on  their  squires'  arms  and  point- 
ing out  to  them  the  stuff  for  a  gown  or  mantle 
which  is  charming  under  the  light. 

Behold  also  the  clerks  who  are  wending  their 
way  to  the  cafe  to  play  their  game  of  billiards  or 
dominos,  and  those  who  seat  themselves  behind 
the  railing  in  the  boulevard  to  drink  the  beer  which 
the  waiter  thoughtfully  froths  up  so  that  a  third 
of  the  bottle  is  spilled  on  the  table. 

How  cheerful,  gay,  pleased  and  contented  every- 
body is.  Seen  under  the  gaslight,  in  truth,  the 
inhabitants  of  Paris  seem  very  fortunate,  and  a  for- 
eigner who  walks  of  an  evening  along  our  boule- 
vards, so  brilliant  with  shops  and  cafes,  so  enlivened 
by  the  theatres,  the  promenaders,  and  the  strolling 
merchants — a  foreigner  must  get  a  very  favorable 
idea  of  the  city  and  its  inhabitants. 

But  appearances    are    often   deceitful.     These 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       273 

men  who  go  into  the  cafes  for  diversion  will  get 
heated  with  punch,  will  quarrel  and  perhaps  go 
forth  from  them  to  fight ;  that  married  couple  who 
seem  so  much  in  accord  will  go  home  pouting 
because  monsieur  has  not  satisfied  all  madame's 
desires ;  the  merchants  will  shut  their  shops  and 
complain  that  they  have  sold  nothing  all  day  ;  and 
the  firemen  will  go  home  swearing  because  the 
theatres  keep  open  so  late. 

Then,  behind  these  young  men  who  walk  along 
singing  and  laughing  at  the  close  of  a  dinner  they 
have  been  having  at  the  Vendanges  de  Bourgogne, 
comes  the  poor  father  of  a  family  who  does  not 
know  how  to  go  home  because  he  has  no  bread  to 
carry  to  his  children,  or  an  old  man,  ashamed  and 
trembling,  approaches  you  without  daring  to  beg, 
but  muttering  some  words  that  you  quickly  com- 
prehend if  you  are  at  all  sympathetic. 

Then  you  feel  that  all  is  not  joy  that  is  before 
your  eyes  ;  that  there  is  more  movement  than  hap- 
piness in  the  scene ;  that  some  wish  to  assume  a 
luxury  beyond  their  means  and  others  pretend  to 
be  embarrassed  so  as  not  to  seem  disobliging ;  that 
there  is  more  ostentation  than  ease  in  these  well- 
lighted  shops ;  that  there  is  more  weariness  than 
pleasure  in  the  homes  of  these  people  who  wish  to 
look  as  though  they  were  amusing  themselves ; 
in  fact,  that  which  is  natural  and  free  from  affecta- 
tion is  what  one  least  often  sees  in  a  big  city,  where 
people  seem  afraid  even  to  walk  or  ride  naturally. 

Vol.  XIX 


274     SCENES  OF  PARISIAN  LIFE 

But  the  plays  are  over ;  there  is  a  few  moments' 
trade  for  the  pastrycooks,  nearly  all  the  habitues 
of  the  god's  gallery  want  to  be  served  with  cakes ; 
they  make  a  line  for  a  moment  to  have  their  mer- 
chandise all  hot.  The  trade  in  cakes  has  greatly 
increased  during  the  past  few  years ;  people  make 
a  fortune  out  of  it  in  a  short  time.  You  may  see 
every  evening  in  the  orchestra  seats  at  the  Opera- 
Comique,  among  the  faithful  patrons  of  that  thea- 
tre, a  former  cake  merchant,  which  proves  that 
while  making  his  dough  stiff  he  had  had  some  taste 
for  music;  I  am  only  sorry  that  he  did  not  become 
a  patron  of  the  Bouffes. 

People  are  becoming  scarcer,  the  shops  are  clos- 
ing, the  gas  is  extinguished,  some  of  the  cafe  lights 
still  shine  into  the  boulevard,  but  soon  they  also 
will  be  extinguished  and  of  all  this  glow  which  illu- 
mines the  boulevard  there  will  remain  only  the 
street  lamps  which  glare  through  the  gloom. 

Before  leaving  the  window  let  us  wait  a  moment. 
I  think  we  are  going  to  see  something  else,  for 
those  men  are  not  walking  about  in  front  of  that 
big  house  down  there  without  a  cause. 

You  think,  perhaps,  that  I  am  going  to  make  you 
a  witness  of  a  scene  of  robbery  ?  Reassure  your- 
self, that  would  be  not  at  all  laughable  or  interest- 
ing or  new  in  a  great  city ;  you  are  going  to  see 
something  more  original  than  that. 

Wait  a  bit,  some  one  opens  a  window  on  the 
third  floor  of  the  big  house,  and  a  man  appears  at 


CHARLES  PAUL  DE  KOCK       275 

it  and  looks  down  on  the  boulevard  ;  the  men 
below  shout  to  him,  "  Come,  make  haste !  " 

Bif!  bang!  bump!  in  a  few  seconds  three  mat- 
tresses are  thrown  out  of  the  window,  then  a  couch, 
then  a  commode  and  two  chairs  and  two  bundles 
come  swiftly  down  on  top  of  the  mattresses.  The 
owner  prefers  to  see  his  furniture  broken  to  having 
it  sold.  You  understand  now  that  what  you  see 
is  the  moving  of  a  poor  devil  who  has  not  paid 
his  rent,  and  to  whom  the  landlord  has  said  that 
he  shall  not  carry  away  his  effects.  The  unfor- 
tunate tenant  answered  sighing,  "  I  will  not  carry 
them  away." 

In  fact  he  contented  himself  with  throwing  them 
out  of  the  window,  and  those  are  two  of  his  friends 
who  are  carrying  them  away.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  moving  is  effected;  and  the  next  day  the  tenant 
will  leave  early  in  the  morning. 

You  doubtless  did  not  expect  to  see  people  move 
so  late.  But  a  great  many  things  are  done  in  Paris 
that  we  have  not  seen ;  and  if  these  pictures  have 
amused  you,  you  may  on  some  other  occasion  see 
what  follows  them  by  placing  yourself  at  my  win- 
dow from  midnight  to  seven  in  the  morning. 


ft 


"orm  L9-Seties  444 


UNiV.  Of  WJf.  UE«AHY,  L05  ANQO£9 


